Dawn of a New Beginning
by sliceofperfection
Summary: The loss of a beloved memory of the Crawley family serves as the catalyst for Baxter & Molesley finally admitting their feelings to one another. But life is often full of surprises, and their union might not begin quite like they planned.
1. Chapter 1

**I have recently felt inspired to return to fanfic at least to close out my current works in progress (WIC). Which is why I've updated my plans to complete each fanfiction that has remained a WIC since the beginning of time in my account profile. So if you haven't already seen that, check it out.**

 **And if you want some good ole' fashioned slow burn romance with some angst/comfort cuteness, read this Baxley fic. As co-captain of the ship it's like they keep calling me onboard. And our dear captain, doesn't make it easy to let them go with all of her encouragement. Anyway lovelies, enjoy! If you find the time to share your thoughts feel free to do so.**

* * *

Baxter bowed her head solemnly, her black leather clad hands folded together as the choir sang sorrowful hymns. She felt Thomas shift in his seat beside her, clearing his throat once more. Her eyes flickered up and over to him, and she set a hand on his knee, patting it reassuringly.

He nodded and covered her gloved hand in mute acknowledgment for a few moments.

Grief was a curious thing. Its infinite reach had the power to ensnare those who lived on the outskirts of the deceased's life. It made the most unlikely of people feel its weight. And yet, it left room for others to feel its presence due to a lack of depth to their own sadness.

The occasional sniffles and whimpers echoed from the front pew, forcing Baxter's gaze to the front of the church.

Her eyes traveled down the line of Crawley's. Each of them neatly paired off, their hands clasped with their loved ones as the older children sat dutifully quiet, pressed into their mother's sides. The youngsters who might start a fuss were tucked safely away in the nursery with their nanny. They were too innocent to carry the heavy burden of grief that was thrust upon the others.

But out of the entire sea of black, Baxter's eyes landed on the Lord & Lady of the house. His Lordship passively stared at the altar before them, anchored in place by his sister and his wife. Lady Rosamund appeared to be fighting back the worst of her tears, her shoulders tremoring as her head hung forward. A handkerchief pressed into her face, stifling the crushing sounds that prompted Baxter to purse her lips.

Noticing her rising levels of grief, his Lordship placed an arm around both of her shoulders and drew her into his side affectionately.

Her mistress, the Lady of the House, turned her head in their direction just enough for Baxter to see the lower half of her face beneath the brim of her wide brimmed cloche. She bit her lower lip, a telltale sign of holding in her emotions, and linked her arm beneath her husband's other one.

There was no denying the feeling of loss that overcame so many. And when it was time for all to stand and depart to the family cemetery, where Old Lady Grantham would make her final resting place, they clung to each other more desperately.

Baxter shuffled along in the procession alongside Thomas, their arms linked amicably as they made their way outside where all were met with dreary skies.

 _How fitting_ , Baxter thought as she glanced upward.

Patches of white poked out of the low hanging grey, and the occasional bright patch of sunshine would fall upon them. But for the most part, the overall mood met with the day's proceedings.

Fortunately for all, they remained dry as they walked down the winding dirt path that lead to the big house.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, and commented lightly to Thomas, "Quite a lengthy procession we have." As their incline towards the lane increased, her feet felt tighter against the confines of her shoes.

"I am surprised," Thomas looked behind them as well, "seems like they invited half of the village to come along."

"Perhaps it a sign of the times," Baxter remarked.

"Or the end of an era," Thomas pointed out.

She shook her head and lightly teased, "Must you always be contrary to everything, everyone says."

"Not contrary, Miss. Baxter. Just offering a different perspective," He grinned that cheeky grin of his that prompted her to smile and roll her eyes.

Fortunately for all of them, his cheekiness appeared more so to make light of situations than to create havoc these days. His position of butler-in-training had no doubt given him a new purpose to help those around him, and not lash out against them.

They had made it about halfway up the path when she heard a wheezing sound coming up fast on her right side. Turning her head, she noticed a flustered looking Mr. Molesley approaching them.

"Mr. Molesley?!" She called out, smiling brightly whenever she realized he meant to walk on the other side of her.

"Good day, Miss. Baxter," He wheezed, tipping his hat in her direction before looking to the other side of her. "Mr. Barrow," He inclined his head.

"Mr. Molesley," Thomas returned smoothly, trying not to seem concerned with his sudden appearance. "Can we help ye?"

"Oh I was…invited…ye see…to take part in the…events…at the house," He explained, looking between him and Miss. Baxter. He then focused on the latter, "I would have thought her Ladyship might have...mentioned it...to ye."

Baxter shook her head and shrugged sheepishly, "She would likely mention it to Mrs. Hughes before she would to me."

"Ahh..I suppose that's right."

"Have ye come alone?" She wondered, and then at his perplexed expression she added, "Only just…I would have thought yer father would also be here with ye. Seeing as he knew Lady Grantham a great deal."

"Oh yes…" He agreed and then trailed off, his gaze wandering downward, "…it's only just. Dad's not very well." He flashed a reassuring smile before going on, "We thought it best he stay back at the cottage and rest."

"Oh I am sorry to hear he's unwell," She replied softly.

Molesley nodded appreciatively.

She always liked Old Mr. Molesley. He was kind, and always extended an open invitation for Baxter to join him and his son for Sunday supper. Thomas had even joined her on one occasion when the Crawley's had granted the entire staff a day of reprieve over the Christmas Holiday.

It had been a few months though, since Baxter could take the time away from Downton to make the visit. With this news, her heart felt a bit heavier. Molesley's father had been something of a father figure to her as well. Something she had always lacked for most of her life.

And even now as a grown adult. It felt nice to have a sense of kinship with someone who was willing to tease her for her shortcomings, give advice, and offer colorful stories from years past. She could pass hours at a time with him and his son. It was in their cottage she felt most at ease.

She found herself chewing on her bottom lip when Mr. Molesley blurted the statement.

"You know what might brighten his spirits?"

"What?"

"If you came around for dinner this Sunday."

Her heart constricted further. She would love nothing more to. Pursing her lips, she offered an apologetic look, "I would love to it's just…well…I don't know that her Ladyship could spare me."

"Oh, come now, Miss. Baxter," Thomas nudged her in the side.

She had nearly forgotten he was by her side.

"With the house in mourning, her Ladyship will hardly need fussed over. And given the current circumstances, I'm sure you might find her to be more charitable."

Baxter looked to Mr. Molesley who was beaming with excitement at the idea. "It doesn't hurt to ask," He shrugged.

Upon seeing his face, she found herself smiling shyly and nodding, "Alright then."

* * *

Her request had gone over easier than she expected it to. Even Mrs. Patmore was feeling charitable, and gave her a basket full of leftover scones, and a pot of cooked vegetables that would be expire within a day or so.

Baxter supposed this might further brighten the older Mr. Molesley's countenance and give younger Mr. Molesley one less meal to account for on his own.

She barely lifted her hand to knock on the front door of their cottage when the older Mr. Molesley opened it for her.

"Oh Phyllis!" He exclaimed, his eyes taking in the pot and the basket she held in her arms. Cocking an interested brow, he marveled, "You've brought some things, have ye?"

"Just a few scones and vegetables that the house could spare," She beamed at Molesley senior, shuffling over the threshold of their tiny cottage.

"Oh, that's mighty nice," Mr. Molesley returned, leaning his weight against the door and opening it wider for her to step through. Calling through the square sitting room to the back kitchen, he remarked once more, "Isn't it nice, Joe?"

"Very nice," Joe Molesley agreed, hurrying from the other room, to assist. Upon noticing his father stumbling a bit from the door to the nearest flat surface he could lean his weight on, Joe cried out in exasperation, "Dad!"

He brushed past Miss. Baxter and hurried to his father's side. Gripping him under one arm, he helped move him from the tall chest that ran across one wall, and back to an armchair in the corner of the room.

"Now ye know ye aren't supposed to go far without your cane," He chided him lowly.

Older Mr. Molesley grumbled something incoherently, but Baxter took it to mean something along the lines of: _that unreliable, old thing can shove it._

"Now, why don't ye sit here, and enjoy your book while I…"

"For goodness sake Joe, I can do it myself," He mumbled, reaching for his book on the end table. A low felt cough slightly stirred from within him, but he blew it out swiftly as if to snuff it out before it could gain momentum.

"Alright, alright," Mr. Molesley backed away, hands up in surrender.

The elder Molesley coughed and nodded in response, waving him away.

Baxter turned and slowly made her way to the kitchen, Molesley at her heels, although throwing cautionary glances while his father's cough turned into a phlegmy choking sound before turning dry again.

Baxter scanned the kitchen for a suitable place for her basket and the pot. Molesley reached for the cast iron pot beneath her arm, "I'll take this then?"

"Some green and carrot dish that was for the mourners," Baxter explained while he opened the lid to check the contents. "Suppose not everyone was as hungry as they anticipated."

"I could make a soup of this," Molesley declared.

They heard the faint grumbling of: _"Another soup, hmph!"_ from the next room.

Baxter stifled an amused chuckle.

"You can set the scones there," Molesley nodded to the square table situated in the corner.

"Brilliant," Baxter scooted around the table with the three chairs that sat square in the room. When she turned back around and saw Molesley bent over the stove stirring a tureen, she wondered, "So…soup's been on the menu quite a bit?"

"Ah yeah," He nodded in agreement. Lowering his voice, he whispered, "Dad's been unable to keep most solids down."

"Oh…how terrible for him," She shook her head, folding her arms in front of her chest. "He seems better though."

"Ehh..." Molesley bobbed his head and shrugged, "…he has good days and bad."

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Clarkson can't say for sure," He sighed, stirring the contents of the pot. "And Dad doesn't help the matter."

"I heard that!" Yelled Mr. Molesley from the next room. However, the effort set him back a bit as he fell into another fit of a wheezing cough.

"Take it easy now, Dad!" Molesley called back before shaking his head in agitation over the stove.

Baxter couldn't help but chuckle, "Can't say it's his hearing that's gone."

"No," Molesley scoffed at this.

"Shall I sit with him? That is, unless there is something I can do to help?" She looked around, but it appeared that Molesley only had a single pot heating on the stove, and the bowls and cutlery were all set out on the table.

"All covered in here, Miss. Baxter," He assured. Then with a teasing smile and wink he remarked, "Good luck."

"I think we'll do just fine," She beamed in response before removing herself to the next room.

Mr. Molesley sat in his armchair, handkerchief resting on top of one another arms. To his right was a taller cabinet made of dark wood. It reached the bottom of the front window, a crocheted doily stretched across the top with smaller knickknacks and picture frames littering it.

There was a settee on the opposite side of the armchair, a pink and green crocheted blanket adorning the top back of it. On the wall across from that was the fireplace, and just to the left of it, part of the wall jutted inward like a bookshelf might. Rows of books filled the space, and she smiled upon seeing them stacked in various directions. It was organized chaos of sorts, fitting for someone of Mr. Molesley's countenance. Situated in the same corner of the room was a gramophone that appeared to have seen better days.

"Mind if I sit with you a while, Mr. Molesley?" She probed politely, sinking down on the end of the settee closest to him.

"Not at all, Miss. Baxter. Not at all." He closed his book on his lap and asked directly. "So, tell me, how is it we haven't seen you the last few months?"

"Work keeps me busy, sir," She informed him lightly.

"You must enjoy it immensely to dedicate your life to it."

"It's a fine post. And I am _very_ lucky. Not many girls have the pleasure to work for a family like the Crawley's."

"Especially these days, I daresay," Molesley commented.

"Especially so, sir."

"It was a shame about Old Lady Grantham. She was a remarkable woman."

"Yes," Baxter nodded, allowing a significant enough pause for them to think of her fondly. Then she grinned at him as a particular thought struck her, "I understand the pair of you often were in competition with one another? Mr. Molesley mentioned something about the best village bloom?"

"Ahh…the Grantham Cup. Yes, yes. Those were the days." He sighed wistfully, his grey eyes looking faraway as though fixating on past events. Then he confided wryly, "Although, I think towards the end she felt a bit sorry for me and gave it to me then."

"No Dad," Molesley interjected, prompting both of them to turn towards the kitchen doorway. "I think she recognized that she hadn't been fair to you for many years." He turned to Baxter and added, "Do you really think she tended her own roses?"

She shook her head, "I can't imagine it."

"Well…it was kind of her all the same to recognize me as her equal," Old Mr. Molesley decided with a satisfied smile.

Another moment transpired between them before Molesley announced, "I hate to interrupt, but dinner is ready."

"Oh good," Mr. Molesley shifted forward in his armchair, preparing to push himself up on his own two feet.

Baxter leapt from her seat just as Molesley scurried forward to reach for his father. Miss. Baxter caught him beneath the arm first, startled when his crooked fingers clutched onto her other hand for additional support almost immediately.

Her eyes met Molesley's who was watching her with a mixture of admiration and surprise at her ability to hold him upright.

"Alright Mr. Molesley," She remarked encouragingly, "now where is that cane that son of yours insists you need?"

He chuckled at her words which turned into another sharp rattling in his chest, and he pointed towards it leaning against the fireplace.

Molesley moved to take it from its resting place, handing it over to his father.

"Alright then Dad?" He helped him in making the transition, watching as Miss. Baxter slowly loosened her grip on him.

"Alright. Alright," Mr. Molesley grunted as he determinedly strode from the sitting room to the kitchen. "Let's get this supper started, shall we?"

Molesley looked over his father's retreating form and offered an arm to Miss. Baxter, "Well if he doesn't want escorted into the dining room…"

She snorted at this before providing a wry retort of her own. "I'd be honored, Mr. Molesley," She inclined her head while looping her arm through his. She teased, "If I'm to be escorted into the dining room at Molesley Manor each time, perhaps I'll never wish to dine anywhere else."

Molesley's smile deepened at this, a pinkish color creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears. He glanced away from her twinkling gaze and muttered in a voice so low she had to strain her ears to hear him.

"Perhaps that can be arranged."

* * *

Baxter felt a sense of comfort fill her as their modest dinner progressed. While she often felt a comradery when she sat down with the staff at Downton, this was different. There were no airs or pretenses to put on. No need to mask one's true opinions to not cause disturbances in rank.

Not that their talk that evening was controversial. But Baxter knew she could openly discuss matters of the house here as they pertained to her, without any fear of word ever reaching those upstairs.

The only topic of conversation that appeared to be off the table that night was unwavering health of Old Mr. Molesley. He managed to finish off his meal, but shortly after felt his stomach turn, prompting an early retirement for him.

Molesley took great care to help his father into the adjoining room, which was once his own room, but now that the stairs to the second floor posed a challenge, his father traded with him.

He gave Baxter something of a reassuring smile. "Gave him some medicine that Mr. Clarkson prescribed," He explained quickly, picking up their bowls and moving back to the sink.

"Does it help?" She asked reflexively.

He bobbed his head and shrugged noncommittally. The plates and cutlery clinked together in the sink, and whatever he might be murmuring to himself was drowned out by the light trickling of water running.

Leaving that piece of the conversation alone, Baxter stood to help gather the rest of the glasses and dishes atop the table. She carefully placed them into the sink, offering another course of discussion for them that evening.

"Dinner was lovely."

Molesley smiled before looking over at her, his eyes awash with relief. "Oh, I'm glad. It's probably not quite like anything you'd have at the house but…"

"It was lovely, Mr. Molesley," She interjected softly. "And it's nice to get out of Downton every now and again."

"Ye probably can't afford to do it again so soon," He surmised with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

She turned away, feeling the same sinking sensation inside of her. "No, probably not, I'm afraid," She remarked a bit downcast.

The sound of water running ceased, and he dried his hands with a nearby towel.

"We could sit or…if you're needed back…?"

Baxter waited for him to finish, but when his words trailed off with a shrug, she informed him. "Anna is taking care of her Ladyship this evening. As long as I'm back for Mr. Barrow to lock the door at ten."

"Right then," Molesley gestured towards the table once more. "Coffee with your scones, Miss. Baxter?"

"Oh the scones!" She exclaimed, suddenly remembering the baked goods that she brought along. "Yes, coffee would go nicely."

As Molesley set to boil water for coffee, Baxter brought the basket of scones to the table for them to enjoy. "I'm sorry your Dad can't enjoy them with us."

"Ahh that's alright," He sank down in the chair at the head of the table, the seat directly beside hers. "He never really had much of a sweet tooth."

Unable to wait for the water to boil, Baxter bit into one, tasting the lemony icing that coated them. Molesley joined in as well.

"Mmm…" Molesley bobbed his head in approval. "Mrs. Patmore's outdone herself again."

"Actually," She swallowed before wiping her mouth with her dinner napkin, "Daisy tried her hand at these."

His smile grew, "A girl of many talents that Daisy. She'll be going places."

"Thanks to your encouragement," Baxter complimented.

"Ahh…" Molesley shrugged, setting down his scone on his napkin. "She had to work it all out herself."

"But you gave her the confidence, Mr. Molesley."

"Perhaps," He shrugged again, looking around the room before his eyes settled back on the kettle.

Baxter racked her brain for other possible topics of conversation that they hadn't already exhausted. They'd done the pleasantries so far. Asking about one another's professions, discussing the late Lady Grantham's legacy and how she would be missed by certain people, and then of course, the weather, and the happenings around town. Their list of superficial topics was waning, and with this realization Baxter felt a bit nervous.

Finally, just as the kettle began its shrill rattling, it dawned upon her.

"The school term must be ending soon," She commented lightly while Molesley killed the heat on the stove and poured their steaming coffee into two mugs.

"Ah yes," He responded eagerly, setting them both down on the table. "Oh!" He pointed at her as he remembered, "Milk, right?"

She smiled shyly at how he remembered, "If you can spare it."

"Oh, for you, certainly."

Baxter felt her stomach flutter at his words. Biting down on her bottom lip to suppress the growing smile, she graciously accepted the milk jug from him before pouring a few droplets in.

"Just set it on the table's fine," Molesley waved a hand in her direction when she looked ready to put it back in its place on the shelf.

They both took a quick sip of their hot coffee and then looked at one another expectantly. They were seated closer now, instead of directly across one another like they had been at supper. And Baxter was starting to notice the finer details of how they were position. How their feet nearly touched as they sought to find comfortable positions in the chairs. How their hands nearly brushed each time they picked up their scones or coffee mugs.

Her heartbeat quickened as she felt the heat of his body radiating.

 _How strange_ , she decided, how something as simple as the back of two hands brushing could set off a flurry of responses inside someone.

And it wasn't like she hadn't been this close to Mr. Molesley before now. They'd held hands, they'd even held one another close while dancing, for goodness sake! It had to be the coffee, there was no other explanation for it.

Her inner musings were interrupted when Molesley asked, "I forgot to ask earlier. How is Thomas doing with his training?"

"Oh fine," Baxter responded before chuckling, "folks are actually beginning to like him."

Molesley chuckled at this, "We ought to alert the authorities."

Baxter smiled deeper, showing her teeth. "Well I am glad it's turned out alright for him." Then after a moment's pause, her expression faltered. Showing a tensely stretched smile now, she admitted, "It's a bit scary how jobs in service aren't as available anymore."

"Well you and Lady Grantham seem to get on well," He reassured easily before tilting his head to one side. "I doubt you have anything to worry about."

She bobbed her head slowly, allowing his words to sink in. Her face brightened once more, "You're probably right. And I do have some set aside for the future."

"That's prudent of you."

"One has to be these days."

"Mhm…" He replied while sipping more coffee.

"Still," She stroked the rim of her coffee mug, contemplating recent events, "with Old Lady Grantham's passing…I often wonder where I'd go or what would become of me if the present Lady Grantham…" She looked up and shrugged at him, letting her words die out.

Letting out a sigh, Molesley offered, "Well…ye...ye could…I'm sure the Bates' have room in their cottage. Or there are others in the village you could board with."

She considered this, "I suppose."

"But Lady Grantham's young and mostly in good health," He raised his mug to his lips once more.

"You're right," Baxter remarked, shaking off the doubtful thoughts swirling in her head. "I'm being silly."

"It's good to have plans though," He encouraged. "For all the surprises life has to offer. It's good to know that some things are for certain."

"What is it they say…death and taxes are the only certainties life has to offer?"

Molesley snorted a bit at her witticism, and Baxter giggled softly.

Once their amusement subsided, Molesley cocked his head to one side and remarked, "That's a bit sad though when you think about it."

"I'm sorry," She frowned a bit. "I didn't mean to…bring down the mood."

"Oh no," He waved a hand before disclosing, "I don't think you _really_ could. Even if you tried."

"That's kind of ye."

"Well it's true. You're presence is a welcome one."

"Oh stop," She rolled her eyes a bit, and felt her cheeks warming.

"It's true!" He exclaimed, "Dad was determined to get out of bed and to have meal, the minute I told him you were coming."

She felt a pang of guilt at hearing this. Biting on her lower lip, she mumbled into her coffee mug, "And now he's overexerted himself for me."

He leaned forward, determined to catch her eye again. When Baxter looked up, she saw the genial warmth written across his face. And his next words came out gently and reassuringly.

"Don't go on blaming yourself. He had a jolly time. He's not well. We don't talk about it because…well…we don't how to. Dr. Clarkson isn't exactly sure what it is either. We just know he has good days, like today. And then…days where he can't get out of bed."

He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee after this, and the sadness that slowly sifted through his final words nearly broke her heart.

"And you have to bear it all on your own," She observed sadly.

"Yeah…well that's just…what you do." He cleared his throat again and exhaled, looking down at the table. "That's just what you do for someone you love."

Slowly and tentatively, she reached her hand towards his, offering a reassuring squeeze. Molesley looked over at her and offered a weak smile, his eyes glistening a bit. His hand turned over beneath hers, their palms pressing together as his grip tightened around her hand in mute response.

His thumb lightly traced the back of her knuckles, and she felt her gaze lowering between them while he continued studying her face.

Her heart hammered fiercely now, and she felt a sort of heat rush through her ears. Then there was something more primal deep within her, a yearning to shift her chair closer to him; to draw him near.

But she forced them away by insisting in a hushed voice, "Ye can write to me, ye know? If ye need…a-a friend."

His thumb stopped, and she felt his gaze move away from her flushed face. She stole an opportunity to glance at his face, and she noticed his lips rolling together. She wondered what he was contemplating at he looked down at their joined hands, and part of her hoped it was the same thoughts that circulated her mind.

"I shall write to ye then," He murmured softly, his gaze moving up to hers.

And she let her hand slip away when she noticed the same hunger in his eyes that she felt in her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

_**First of all, thank you to everyone who showed interest in this so far! I really do appreciate your support & encouragement! Also, p**_ _ **lease excuse any typos, I am nursing some major anxiety & headache pain right now, so I really didn't have a chance to reread this as thoroughly as I wanted to. Hope you enjoy Baxley buds!**_

* * *

They had spent the last few weeks exchanging letters that skirted around the aftershocks of their brief hand holding over scones. They mostly discussed their individual work, Molesley interjected to give updates on his father's health, and in turn began asking her about her family. A portion of her life that she rarely alluded to, which is why he rarely asked.

But this last time, he was met with her cryptic response of _I don't really have much of a family._ Molesley thought best to leave it at that. She would disclose it if the right moment came, or if she felt comfortable enough with him. Perhaps one day.

That was the way of their relationship. Always looking to the future. Always implying they might talk about this or that if the time came. If the right opportunity presented itself to one of them, they might just be bold enough to take that next step towards where they'd been heading for a while now.

He thought of kissing her hand that night and disclosing it all. But she pulled away from him, her eyes bewildered by something in his expression. It was then he realized that perhaps she didn't feel that same burning desire to draw her close as he did.

Perhaps it was best that she didn't hold his gaze or that her hand slowly drifted away from his hold. He'd been half a second away from ruining the best relationship he'd ever been in.

And now as he read the contents of her latest letter, he felt possessed with a need to go to her. He stood abruptly from the table in the cottage's kitchen. The chair scraped painfully against the wooden floor, and he froze. Holding his breath, the only immediate sounds he detected were his fiercely beating heart, and the clock ticking on the windowsill behind him.

He inched closer to the door separating the kitchen from his father's bedroom. After a few seconds, he heard the familiar catch and release of his father's uneven snores. He exhaled in relief.

It had been challenging for his dad to find sleep tonight. It was only after a half glass of whiskey that he was able to find relief from the pain that plague his gut. Joe said a silent prayer at the realization that his father was still fast asleep.

Then he resolved to move to the front sitting room. Armed with his gas lamp and the slip of paper, he paced quietly to the next room.

He sunk down on the armchair angled in one corner, placing the lamp on the chest of drawers beneath the window. Leaning toward the light, he reread the lines that gave him a great deal of trouble.

 _I've received exciting news. I am to accompany her Ladyship to America for these summer months. It appears Old Lady Grantham's passing has stirred some feelings of nostalgia in her. She wishes to visit her mother and brother while she is still able and while they are still well._

 _I've never been nor had the chance to go. I doubt I ever will again, so I feel it my duty to seize this opportunity with enthusiasm._

 _We are to depart this Friday for Liverpool._

He paused again, checking the postmark date. In four days! She was headed for America. For the entire summer. In four days' time. He would hardly see or hear from her.

She was going away on an exciting holiday, _and_ she was enthused by it. There wasn't a shred of disappointment or melancholy disclosed by her, which in turn depressed his mood. The buoyant state in which the letter's presence found him was now lost as he felt his heart sink slowly.

Letting out a sigh, he waved the paper back and forth as though it were a fan. He thought of his dad, how the whiskey had lulled him into a deep slumber. He thought of her upcoming schedule, and how busy it would undoubtedly be until Friday. He knew she wouldn't be able to steal away.

He supposed there might not be another chance, another opportunity to see her before she departed.

Hoping his unannounced arrival would be a welcome one, Molesley grabbed his jacket, checked for the keys to the cottage and set on his way towards The Big House.

* * *

Miss. Baxter was polishing a pile of boots that her Ladyship requested to take for their journey. She would take a month's worth of clothes, and purchase additional items as needed. There wasn't much changing required in America, she explained. Only when one was going out or hosting a social event was dinner considered a formal affair.

She mentioned they would be doing a great deal of going out as her mother still enjoyed the social season. Especially now that both of her children were connected through marriage to the British aristocracy. Nearly all of Lady Grantham's formal wear would be required then.

Even after all these years of being employed by the Crawley's, it still shocked Baxter how many articles of clothing Lady Grantham owned. The magnitude seemed to hit her most when she was asked to prepare for long trips such as this one. And while she had mended the everyday items that needed it, she knew her list of things to do would force her to work late into the night.

Which is why when Mrs. Hughes poked her head into the boot room and mentioned she had a visitor, Baxter felt a slight ping of annoyance. But the annoyance was soon replaced with a wave of fear.

 _Who could possibly want to see her? And at such a late hour?_

"Someone we know, Mrs. Hughes?" She asked hesitantly.

Mrs. Hughes authoritative expression melted into that of delight, "Our Mr. Molesley. Ye can invite him in for a spot of tea if ye like."

Her heart skipped a beat, and then sunk. Surely his presence could only be explained by an urgent need. Perhaps it was his father.

Bowing her head in thanks to Mrs. Hughes, she abandoned her work to maneuver down the corridor that led to the servant's yard.

She pushed open the door and he stood nearby, half cloaked in the early darkness night. The lanterns hanging outside casting a dim glow on parts of his face.

"Mr. Molesley," She breathed out, rushing to him. "Is everything alright?" Her eyes searching his face for signs of shock or grief, her heart bracing itself behind her ribcage for the ominous news she'd been dreading him to bring her.

He looked a bit disheveled, his breath coming in and out unevenly. His eyes were wide and darting from her face to their surroundings.

"Is it your father?" She tried to force his answer. Her hand reached for the sleeve of his jacket and it felt warm.

"Oh no," He assured, suddenly focusing on her. "No Dad's…well…he's alright. It was a hard day," He admitted with a slight tilt of his head. "But he's resting now."

"Oh," She blinked back, removing her hand. "Oh well…I would have thought your sudden visit…might suggest some urgent need?"

"Yes," He lifted his brow, explaining rather hurriedly, "I received your letter."

"Oh," She exhaled a bit, feeling a bit unhinged by this.

"I just..." Molesley started eagerly before stopping to fully think through his next words, "...well I didn't know when I'd have a chance to see ye."

She hardly expected him to arrive so swiftly due to her news. Part of her was elated by his admission, another part of her still unsure. With his presence under their circumstances, there was a chance for them to start sailing in uncharted waters.

Still, she was glad for him to come in friendship, not under some other hostile emotion.

"You're not angry then?" She offered a sheepish half smile, feeling the tightness inside her stomach begin to slowly unwind.

"Of course not," Molesley sighed heavily, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. Shrugging he admitted with a bit of uncertainty, "It-it did made me a bit sad, though."

Baxter swallowed the lump growing in her throat and she looked down between them. "Me too," She whispered softly.

"I hope it's not presumptuous," He took a step closer to her, his hand finding hers clamped together. He squeezed her top hand, "For me to say that I'll miss you. Which is why I just had to see you now."

He angled his face forward, and she tentatively lifted her eyes to meet his. Shaking her head slowly, she returned, her grey eyes full of deep sincerity. Setting off the fluttering in her chest, and heating her cheeks, she returned, "No. It is not."

"Will you...miss _me_?" He smiled hopefully, a flicker of uneasiness crossing his face.

She nodded, and in finding his eyes she felt the pinprick of tears forming at the back of her eyes. Looking off to one side, she blinked several times, not wanting her mounting feelings to come rushing out now.

"Will you…come back?"

She bobbed her head, whispering, "Of course."

"Might I…?" He started and then stopped again.

Baxter softly urged him to continue, "Yes?"

"…write to you?" He finished in a hurried breath, leaning closer to her.

"Oh, please do," She gushed, her hand folding against his and squeezing tightly. She added boldly, "And tell me everything."

There was a streak of surprise shooting across his face. Or perhaps it was just the flickering of the nearby flame in the lantern. But then, she saw a troubled frown cross his mouth.

"Forgive me, if I appear to earnest," She lowered her gaze, her hand releasing from his for a second time with reluctance.

 _Had she misread his intentions? Perhaps he was merely just seeing her off as a friend. Perhaps his look of desire when their hands intertwined had been something else._

But his light chortling, brought her some ease. "Earnest? You? If anyone could be accused of that, it is surely me. Showing up here unannounced, not entirely sure you would want to see me or hear the things I had to say."

She laughed alongside him for a moment. And then, she breathed out softly with a shy smile, "But I am glad you came. I should like to recall a friendly face from time to time."

"Any friendly face? Or…" Molesley paused, and then practically winced as he spoke the words, "…mine?"

She inhaled sharply at this hardly expecting such sentiments to be spoken. Swallowing back her uncertainty, she stared up at him for several moments, suddenly feeling like she could scarcely breathe.

His face appeared a deeper shade of red, much like hers undoubtedly did. And his eyes were eager for her answer; for a particular answer. She could see it in his cautious yet longing expression.

Her breath came in and out in shallow intervals, her mouth parting slowly as she glanced in the direction of his lips. His mouth was closed tightly as if he was holding his breath. And then she watched him lick his lips, and she nearly lost her nerve. Bowing her head, she muttered, "Yours."

Baxter's clasped hands wrung anxiously, and she didn't quite know where to look.

The quiet that enveloped them next was a deafening one. Baxter could scarcely hear him over the pounding of her own heart and the coarseness of her own breath. There had been moments in years past when she felt her breath stolen from her, but nothing ever as quite like this.

At this moment they stood of the precipice of something more than unwavering friendship. Something deeper, and greater that was beyond their control. Something that could forever change them, for better or worse.

Molesley cleared his throat, his voice still crackling a bit as he breathed out, "Miss. Baxter…" His feet crunched beneath the gravel as he stepped closer to her.

As they stood toe to toe, their bodies nearly pressing together, she angled her face back to look him in the eye once more. His face hovered a few inches from hers, a glassy quality to his eyes as his lids drooped more steadily.

"Yes, Mr. Molesley?" She gulped, feeling her eyes flutter between his gaze and his lips.

"Forgive me," He took her face in both of his hands gently, "if I'm wrong about this."

It was enough to make her melt already. Her head fell back into his hands as she let him kiss her softly on the lips. He smelled fresh and sweet, almost like fresh grass following rainfall, mingled with faint hints of tobacco and a mustiness that belonged solely to the village.

His mouth was soft and slender against her own. And before she could give into any rational thought, Baxter was kissing him back, her lips parting tentatively against his. Their tongues not daring to interfere with the sweet sensation they experienced as their lips came together and apart in languid gestures.

Her hands came to his waist, and she felt one of his slide down the curve of her neck.

Finally, after several seconds, they broke contact. And as she glanced up at the softness in his expression, she felt something course through her whole body.

"You're shaking," Mr. Molesley's hand trailed down further to rest atop her shoulder as if to stifle the tremors that coursed through her body.

"Am I?" She whimpered, looking down between them, feeling a bit unnerved that he felt it too.

 _Was she really that affected by a few kisses? Heaven's what if things …_

She couldn't finish the thought as he brought his arm across her shoulders and drew her body close to his. He placed a soft kiss at the crown of her head, and she inhaled the scent of him with her face pressed into his throat.

There was no telling just how much time had passed before the door to the servant's quarters opened nearby. Utterly stunned, they jumped away from one another. Their eyes fixated on different points entirely as Mrs. Hughes informed Miss. Baxter that her Ladyship was ringing to be put to bed.

She waited expectantly by the door for Baxter to retreat inside, and just before reluctantly disappearing back inside the house she cast a quick, apologetic glance in Mr. Molesley's direction.

* * *

Molesley felt his stomach drop at the sudden appearance of Mrs. Hughes. He released Mr. Baxter from his tender embrace as though a jolt of electricity had sparked up between them. Unlike Miss. Baxter whose gaze fell to the ground, Molesley cast a sideways glance at Mrs. Hughes.

She appeared just as shocked as the pair of them, however, she managed to swallow it back and assert in her usual authoritative tone, "Miss. Baxter, her Ladyship is ready for bed now."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," She mumbled, turning her face a fraction of an inch in his direction.

His mouth curved at the edges into a smile, and he swore that he saw her yearning to return the look. But instead, she turned her head and scurried past Mrs. Hughes into the house.

"Mrs. Hughes," Molesley stepped forward contritely, "I meant no harm."

She studied him warily for a few seconds before deciding, "I doubt you did, Mr. Molesley. But…you must remember that Miss. Baxter is a member of this household in a superior position. There are standards and rules that must be upheld. Even in today's day and age."

Even this mild lecture didn't stop him from blurting out solemnly, "I care for her a great deal. And I would never do anything that might compromise her position. So please, if you're to place blame…"

"I am no judge on this matter, Mr. Molesley," She raised her hands in surrender, eyes widening, "I only want to ensure the safety and security of my female staff. That is all."

"She's going away..." He lamented, pacing back and forth a bit. His arms swung back and forth before he stopped in front of Mrs. Hughes. "I had to…I couldn't let her go not knowing..."

The housekeeper fought back a slight smile at this. Even in her attempt to follow the rules, she knew too well if she was too harsh with him it might be viewed as hypocritical.

Tearing his focus away from her, Molesley moved back across the yard. _Did he really just nearly admit to everything to someone other than Miss. Baxter?_ The tips of his ears were no doubt as red as the warmth he felt in his face. Defeated by Miss. Baxter's sudden departure, Molesley was ready to take his leave when he heard a conflicted sigh from behind him.

"We still lock the door at eleven-thirty."

He whirled around and Mrs. Hughes stared back with knowing half grin, "Be sure you're gone by then, and she's safely back inside beforehand. And be sure you do right by her, Mr. Molesley. Miss. Baxter is a sweet soul. I'd hate to see that gone."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," He crossed the few feet between them, and took her hands in his squeezing them amicably. "And I will...I've never wanted to do right by anyone else more so in my life."

Jerking her head in the direction of the corridor behind her, she insisted, "Ye can use my sitting room. I'm nearly on my way home for the evening with Mr. Carson."

* * *

Not even a half hour later, Baxter scurried back downstairs. Her body hummed from her earlier encounter with Mr. Molesley, nerves bouncing around in her stomach at their abrupt meeting and departure. There was a fluttering in her chest when she let her mind wander to the sensation of his mouth pressed against hers.

Her lips curled at the memory, hand reaching up to lightly touch them.

 _Had it really happened? Had he really kissed her?_ She often wondered if it was to ever happen. And now that it had...

"Her Ladyship tucked snugly in bed?"

Baxter felt her heart stop and her stomach drop as Mr. Barrow's voice caught her off guard at the bottom of the steps. Her hand moved to clutch the stitch at her chest, and she exhaled the breath that hitched in the back of her throat.

"Yes," She replied breathlessly before feeling his mouth twitch wryly, "which is something I'll never know if I don't finish preparing her many shoes this evening."

Continuing on her way to the boot room, Mr. Barrow followed her with his sly words, "Well I'm afraid you might not know it anyway, Miss. Baxter."

Halfway down the corridor, she paused and turned to face him. Pinching her brow she wondered, "Why do you say that?"

"Because Mr. Molesley is waiting for you in Mrs. Hughes sitting room," He informed her smoothly, his dark eyes glittering something smartly. "She said the pair of you might have some things to talk about."

"Oh..." She glanced away uncertainly.

She assumed he had gone, and she could away holding onto a fleeting moment of passion as she crossed to uncertain shores. She hadn't anticipated him staying, them having to discuss their actions. It both thrilled her and frightened her all at once. Thrilled her at the prospect that her life might still yet have a surprise or two in store; frightened her because with this new development stirred great insecurities within her.

"Shall I send him away?" Thomas probed curiously.

"No," She shook her head, brandished a quick smile before deciding, "no that's alright. I will meet with him."

He bowed his head and remarked, "Alright then. Just remember, I lock the door in an hour."

"Yes, Mr. Barrow," She smoothed the front of her black dress, although, there wasn't much to be done about her appearance now.

Baxter now turned to the door a few paces down the corridor on her left, and she slowly pushed open the door. Finding Mr. Molesley seated at the table against the wall, his gaze cast off deep within the room. He shifted in his seat upon hearing her enter, and his expression brightened considerably.

Closing the door behind them, she muttered, unable to hold his gaze for long. "Thomas said you were still here," She remarked neutrally.

"You sound surprised," His voice lifted a bit, and she heard the light, teasing air that occupied him, "Didn't think I'd just run off like that, did ye?"

Sinking down into the chair opposite of him, Baxter smiled shyly. "Not of your own accord, no. I'm only surprised Mrs. Hughes invited you in."

"Perhaps she's becoming more lenient since her and Mr. Carson took up," He shrugged.

Nodding, she dared to find his eye before agreeing, "That's likely."

He beamed back at her, and she felt her cheeks flush from the intensity of it. Her mouth flickered into a similar expression, her eyes darting to and fro, unable to really focus on anything specifically. Her mind whirled incessantly, thoughts of what she ought to say, how she ought to act, made her dizzy.

She never expected it to be so hard with him. Up until this point, things were easy with him. They could be their true selves. They could talk about nearly anything and everything. And they felt at ease doing so. Nerves or moments of awkwardness never paralyzed her before now. And it likely read across her face, prompting her to feel even more at ease.

Thankfully, Mr. Molesley found his words so as to break the heavy silence that resided in the room. "I didn't realize I'd be so nervous about all this. Ye'd think I never kissed a pretty woman before."

"Have ye then?" She marveled, and then, feeling like her shock was a bit rude, she sat back in her seat. "Sorry I didn't mean it like..."

"Oh, it's alright," He shrugged with a self-deprecating, nervous laugh, "I know I'm not much to look at. So you're surprise is to be expected. And I suppose I shouldn't say women. They were girls, and well, I probably looked more promising then than I do..."

"I think you look fine," Baxter blurted out, feeling her heart ache at the notion that he felt the way he did. For when she looked at him, she could scarcely breathe with how lovely he was towards her. "That is," Lowering her eyes, she admitted quietly, "you're very handsome to me."

"Yer just saying that cause ye kissed me," He teased with a snort.

"So?" Her voice rose a bit defensively, "It doesn't make it less true."

His face appeared warmer, and he smiled a bit to himself, "If you say so."

Their conversation trailed off once more to a quietness wrought with doubt. They listened to the intermittent crackling of the fire and the methodical ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was with the latter of these noises that reminded Miss. Baxter that time wasn't necessarily in their favor.

Clearing her throat, she pointed out rather meekly, "Did ye wish to say something to me Mr. Molesley? I don't mean to rush ye out, but I do have quite a lot of work to get done." She grinned apologetically, biting on her bottom lip.

"Oh right," He laughed a bit nervously, "of course, I'm sorry."

"No it's..." She shook her head.

"Mrs. Hughes invited me in as you know by now," He went on. "And while she was waiting for Mr. Carson to go over the books with Thomas...Mr. Barrow," He corrected himself with a slight shake of his head, "we had a bit of tea."

"What does that have to do with...?"

"She's agreed to pitch in and help with her Ladyship on Thursday," He finished, watching her steadily.

Frowning a bit, she wondered, "Why would she do that?"

"So you might have the time off," His words were laced with hope.

Still not understanding, she questioned, "Why would I need the time off?"

"Because..." His mouth opened and closed, and he looked down at his fingers, anxiously running along the lacy table covering. "I..." His mouth contorted a few times before he let it all out in a singular breath, "...I wanted to ask you to marry me. And if you happened to say yes, I wanted to know we could do it before you left."

Baxter's mouth dropped open at this. Her heart plummeting into her chest. She found herself exhaling, her lips twitching and broadening into a stunned smile. Inhaling once more, she managed to get the question out in spite of her mind whirling about once more.

"Are ye asking then?"

He swallowed, leaned forward in his seat, and reached across the table. She placed her hand in his, relishing in the sensation of his fingers curling around her. They looked back at one another, and his face full of adoration and hope, nearly brought her to tears. _Could it really be?_

"Will you marry me, Miss. Baxter?"

Even though she'd been expecting it, the words still took her breath away. Blinking back her tears, she smiled and then her mouth opened and closed a few more times before she could even manage to properly give him the answer he'd been waiting for. The only answer that she ever thought to give him, should this moment ever present itself to them.

"Yes."

* * *

 **Gahh I can't believe I did it! I hope this still makes them believable and in character. The plan was to always have Baxter go away like this, but I had two scenes in mind for their farewell. This one bugged me more, so I couldn't just let the idea fizzle out. I figured they could at least have some type of certainty, given that being away for three months might bring up enough insecurities between them. :) Anyway, sorry if I ruined everyone's expectations of this, I hope you enjoyed it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Nearly a year later and wedding bells are ringing. :) If any of my reader's are still out there, enjoy!**

* * *

"I don't know how I could ever repay you," Baxter anxiously folding and refolding her hands against the powder blue dress.

Anna smiled, a few hair pins sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she popped them into the twist of dark hair she insisted upon fancying for Baxter, given the occasion. A certain sparkle danced across her eyes as if to say, _There's no need to._

"I mean it," Baxter went on, chewing on her bottom lip. "I feel like this is all a bit much."

She wasn't used to being fawned and fussed over. That was usually her gift to others. To be on the receiving end of it felt a bit strange.

The dress was nothing like Baxter owned, or likely was to own. It was more ornate, whereas she was more simple. But Anna and her were roughly the same size, and with the timing of the trip of America, Baxter wasn't in a position to be picky. Besides, after ' last minute dress fiasco, the ladies insisted this fit the occasion. And in some ways, fit her.

The sleeves were quarter length with intricately cut out patterns of starburst flowers and other little geometric shapes, accentuating the slight curve of her hard-working arms. The eyelet pattern continued across her collarbone and lay over the cream-colored sheath beneath it. The sheath underneath was cut in a princess neckline accentuating the top part of Baxter's body, something she often took great care to avoid with her usual daywear. Two lace panels piped the sides of the bodice, ending at the waist where a silk ribbon tied in a dainty bow at the front.

"Nonsense," Anna finally responded, having deposited all the hair pins into the off-center twist that encircled the back of Baxter's head like a crown, ending on the left side in a smooth bun. "It can never be too much on your wedding day."

"We're just going off to the registrar's," Baxter argued, raising a brow at Anna's reflection in the vanity mirror.

" _Still_." Anna merely flashed a cheeky smile back at her, patting the back of her head to ensure the hairstyle was firmly in place. " _Every_ woman deserves to be pampered more than usual on her wedding day."

Baxter felt her cheeks flush a bit, allowing the gravity of Anna's words sinking in.

She was to be married. In haste. But with every ounce of respectability as someone who took the time to plan his/her wedding with great care. Her stomach fluttered as she thought of the events to come. And there was a surging in her heart that made her blood run slightly warmer.

She could hardly believe it was happening. She never expected to be someone's wife. She always suspected she would die a ladies maid, the only living family hundreds of miles away and unaware of her existence. To break free from those practical expectations of her future felt strange. But there was an excitement that reverberated inside of her at the prospect of something unexpected and new.

Glancing down at her hands settling in her lap, Baxter exhaled heavily.

"You all right?" Anna tilted her head to one side thoughtfully.

She nodded, glanced up with a smile adorning her lips. "Nerves I suppose."

"That's only natural," Anna remarked, removing her hands from Baxter's hair to place a reassuring one on her shoulder.

Another nod, yes she heard that many times before. It meant different things to different people. She was still trying to pinpoint precisely what she was most nervous for when Anna broke the silence to ask.

"Did your mother ever tell you…what to expect?"

Baxter chuckled a bit at this, "I _know_ what to expect."

Anna blinked back, a bit shocked by the words, but she managed a smile and a nod.

"I know it…it's not a decent thing to do before you're married but…I was naïve," Baxter explained, feeling a bit embarrassed. Though if Anna was judging her, she masked it well. "I thought...he loved me and that he wanted to run away with me but…" She sighed again, the dark memories clouding her vision, prompting her to look down and blink rapidly to dispel any tears. "…anyway, that was a long time ago. Things are different now."

Her spine straightened and she swiveled around on the wooden bench in front of the vanity. "Mr. Molesley _is_ different," She asserted, hoping if she said the words and spoke them with enough conviction, they could erase those memories that threatened to overshadow today. They lingered in spite of her insistence, making her stomach knot.

Anna inclined her head, "That he is. I'm sure he will be _more than_ good to you."

Baxter moved to stand, smoothing out the front of her skirts. The clock on the mantle in her bedroom struck half past one, and Anna whirled around as if she couldn't quite believe it.

"Well Miss. Baxter, I best hurry up and get dressed if I'm to get you to 'the church' on time."

 _Yes,_ Baxter thought. _We best make good time._ There wasn't much of it left.

* * *

His shoes clicked against the hard, marble floor, matching time with the large, ornate clock that hung on the opposite wall. His knees bounced up and down with each tap of his foot, hands clenching and unclenching atop his legs as he smoothed out the fabric of his trousers.

His eyes remained fixed on the clock and he watched the minute hand tick away methodically; time was suddenly moving faster now than it had a few hours ago. His heart raced with anticipation, his stomach twisted in knots as he waited.

"Will ye calm down, Joseph?" His father suddenly rasped, placing a gnarled hand a top his knee to stop it from bouncing anxiously. "Christ, yer making me nervous."

He ignored his father's complaints and merely remarked through clenched teeth, "They're cutting it rather close."

A whoosh from further down the right hand side of the corridor made his spirits rise and fall in an instant when the door swung open to reveal a man dressed in a business suit who entered the building and turned sharply to a corridor on the right-hand side.

His eyes darted back to the clock, his brain reminding him. Five minutes remained until they would be required to meet the judge.

"Well knowing Anna," Mrs. Bates added calmly, "she's likely taking her time to ensure Miss. Baxter's dressed to the nine's."

"And her efforts are surely appreciated…" Mr. Molesley swallowed, "…I just…she…I hope she doesn't change her mind."

The thought of it, the gravity of the words made his throat close up. He couldn't bear it if she decided suddenly that he was fit enough to be her husband. But her intentions the other night appeared earnest. It appeared that she reciprocated his feelings. But he'd been wrong before. What if there was some unknown factor? Something that pulled her away abruptly. He cast a look at Mr. Bates, remembering the familiar sting of losing Anna to him many years ago.

It had been a tolerable loss. There'd been another man. A reason behind why she couldn't take up with him. But with Miss. Baxter, Phyllis, he mentally amended, there wasn't a reason. At least not one he was aware of. If she were to leave for America without so much as another word to him, he didn't think he could bear it.

"They'll be here, Mr. Molesley," Mr. Bates assured with a nod as though divining his thoughts.

"I sure hope so. I'd feel so foolish if she…" He was cut off as the door swung open once more to reveal Anna with a beaming expression on her face, followed closely by Phyllis.

Joe immediately rose to his feet, his hands clasping together. He felt both his father and Mr. Bates rise slowly as he took a step forward to stand in the middle of the corridor.

Arms linked, Anna and Phyllis hurried in a respectable manner across the atrium of the building. Their heads dipped low, slightly bent together and he could hear the nervous peal of quiet giggling echo off the corridor walls. It was as though the world slow its spinning, and all he could take in were the minute details that made his bride-to-be, simply glorious.

Her pale blue dress cut just around mid-calf, revealing the creamy tone of her stockings that appeared to also match her gloves. It's lacy and sheer appearance in places prompting a yearning inside of him that he couldn't put into words. Her hair swept back in an elegant yet simple crown that twisted fashionably off to one side. And then when she lifted, and her lightly rouged mouth tugged into a shy smile.

He wanted to take in the moment forever, to cherish it as he would cherish the rest of their evening together. His heart quickened with anticipation at the thought. He felt his hands grow a bit clammy. There were anxious about that part of it too. He wanted it to unforgettable, yet he feared being quite forgettable in that fashion.

But he brushed aside such concerns as she ascended the two small steps and now faced him. Anna unlinked arms with her, moving off to the side to stand with Mr. Bates.

Phyllis' hands fiddled together as she suddenly had no idea where to put them.

Joe recovered this nicely though, reaching to place his hand in hers. "My…" He breathed out reverently, his eyes scanning her up and down.

Her eyes widened from the reaction and she glanced down at herself, "Is it too much? Anna insisted I dress up for the occasion. I hadn't planned on it," She shifted her weight, the skirt swaying a bit as they both looked down to examine the rest of the dress.

Tugging on her hands, joe caught her eye once more, "I'm glad she did."

She exhaled with relief, her eyes brimming with excitement.

Suddenly, peeking out from behind him, Joe heard his Dad compliment, "You look lovely, my dear."

"Mr. Molesley," She nearly exclaimed, most likely surprised by his presence with them today. It did his heart glad to watch her move towards him, embracing him without a moment of hesitation. "I didn't expect to see you," She murmured before pulling away and holding him by his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

He reached up to touch her soft, round cheek, patting it affectionately. "Much better now that you're here. Joseph's been out of his mind with worry that you wouldn't make it."

She chuckled a bit at this jab, which earned him a sharp hiss of, _Dad!_ from her husband-to-be.

Phyllis stole a glance from him before admitting softly, "I'd be foolish not to come."

"That's what I thought too. But…no matter now." He hobbled with his cane back towards the bench, bending over with some great effort, a wheezing cough escaping.

Joe instinctively reached for him, receiving the familiar brush off. In spite of his deteriorating condition, Bill Molesley refused to missed today. But he didn't complain whenever his son picked up the bundle of flowers from the bench and handed it directly to him.

"These…" Clearing the phlegm from his throat, Bill turned back around to reveal a bouquet of freshly cut white roses interspersed with violets, daffodils, and baby's breath, "…are for you."

Joe watched Phyllis' mouth drop open, her eyes flood with gratitude and appreciation. Witnessing the look on her face made his father's laboring well worth it.

He had worried when his Dad suggested he make a bouquet for Phyllis on top of attending the ceremony at the registrar's office then ending his evening at his friend Martin's house; all so the newlyweds could have a moment alone.

It was a lot for him nowadays. Things were so uncertain with his condition. But when he brought up his late wife, Molesley's mother, Joe knew there was no reasoning with him. He would do everything he could to ensure their day was special. Even if it meant it was the last kindness he could do for them here on earth.

Joe was brought back to the present with the sweet exchange between the pair of them.

"Mr. Molesley you've outdone yourself," She complimented, examining the bouquet more closely and inhaling the sweet floral notes.

"Might we take a few of these for Miss. Baxter's hair?" Anna deftly inserted herself, lightly touching the baby's breath.

He began, "Certain…"

"No Anna," Phyllis pulled the arrangement out of her reach. "I couldn't possibly disturb it, knowing what was used to wrap them together."

This statement caught Joe's attention, forcing him to examine the strip of fabric encircling the green stalks. It was stark white and had some sort of lacy edge. He hadn't seen his father actually wrap the bouquet, his contribution had been in visiting the other village gardens that had all the flowers his father requested.

He was just about to inquire as to what she meant, when a door opened up behind them and a portly man stepped out and questioned, "Joseph Molesley and Phyllis Baxter?"

His eyes found hers, and he inhaled deeply. Here it was. The moment he had secretly longed for, but never expected to have.

She remarked lightly though he recognized the slight tremor in her voice, "I suppose that's us."

Joe offered her his arm and asked with an eager grin, "Ready then?"

"If you are then I am," She snaked her arm into his, smiling as confidently as she could muster. Although he felt a slight tremble as she hooked onto him.

They would walk in as two people whose lives were about to change entirely; Joe silently prayed it was all for the better.

* * *

"I cannot believe you managed to have a cake made in less than a day!" Phyllis exclaimed for the third or fourth time as they walked through the front gate of the cottage, fingers intertwined.

They went quietly to the Grantham Arms following the civil ceremony, but the surprise had been when Daisy suddenly appeared with an iced lemon cake. She even draped a yellow sugary netting across it, adding a whole other element of elegance to the piece.

He chortled softly with his head bent forward, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging their joined hands back and forth. "Daisy was more than keen to do it."

"It was so nice her being there," Phyllis gushed happily, the bouquet bounced off her wrist, secured with a ribbon that Bill manufactured himself. "You're really setting some high expectations for yourself, Mr. Molesley," She teased, turning gracefully to step in front of him. Her skirt swished as she tugged on his opposite arm, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and into hers.

"Well I have to give you something to remember me by," He taunted with a slight smirk.

The bubbly mood of the afternoon suddenly popped at these words. And behind it all, there was the lingering tension in the air of what tomorrow would bring.

Her bright smile began to fade, just as the sun set behind the cottage.

"Sorry," He grimaced, releasing his mistake. "That wasn't…I shouldn't have…"

Her lips were quick to cut him off as she rose up on her toes just a fraction of an inch to kiss him.

She guided his hands around her waist, hers reaching up to encircle behind his next. They stood beneath a wooden archway with clematis vines growing through the lattice sides and across the wooden beams overhead. The starshaped violet flowers adding to the lush design of the greenery, offering additional shade. It was a design his father's hands had long tended. And it concealed them from scandal should their neighbors decide to step outside and glance over their cottage wall at this precise moment.

After several seconds, their mouths broke apart, breathing coming in rather heavily.

"I rather like doing that," She admitted rather boldly before her cheeks flushed and she couldn't help but laugh self-consciously behind lowered lids.

"Well that's good to hear," He laughed in a similar way. "I should hate to think you detest it so shortly after agreeing to spend the rest of your life with you."

This made her continue to laugh and he joined in, their foreheads bending to join one another's. Once the moment of amusement passed over them and they caught their breath, Joe wondered, "I should…" He paused, lifting his head, his eyes assessing the full length of her body.

"What?" She cocked her head to the side, a peal of laughing passing through her lips.

And in one swift motion, Joe scooped her up into his arms, prompting her to squeal.

"Mr. Molesley!" She was laughing once more, but it gave him the confidence to charge forward into the cottage's front door. "What are you…?"

"It's tradition!" He insisted with a broad grin, fumbling with the key and the front lock while balancing him into his arms.

She giggled once more, holding tightly onto his shoulders. She gripped the bouquet behind her, not wanting to lose it. It could very well be the last kindness Bill Molesley did for her. The thought weighed heavily on her, and she felt that familiar twist inside her gut; the knotted guilt that would plague her as she travelled halfway round the world.

Finally, he managed to toe the door open, and brought her inside the low-lit sitting room. He gently set her back onto her feet, and they both smoothed out the front of their clothes.

When she glanced back at him, Phyllis straightened out his button hole, a white rose that matched similarly to her bouquet. She lifted up her bouquet, noticing a few rumpled petals. Offering a sad smile, she showed him, "A casualty of tradition, it would seem."

"Aw…" He gently began uncurling a tangle of violets from in between the petals of a daffodil, "…we'll put them in some water. They'll manage."

Joe disappeared into the back kitchen and she heard the sound of running water as he filled something to place the flowers in.

The light outside was fading fast, signaling the passage of time that they didn't want to admit.

Phyllis moved towards the back corner of the room, flicking on a standing lamp to illuminate the room. The shorter end table placed in front of it held a tiny picture frame that folded into two parts. It sat open, enough for her to bend low and look at the pictures without having to touch it.

She noticed in the right panel a formally seated photograph. A man with dark hair standing behind a woman, his hand protectively on her shoulder. And there was a baby perched in her lap, its rounded face was a bit blurred, but the connection was unmistakable as it gripped its mother's forefingers with its whole chubby hand. On the left was a young, married couple dress in smart attire, a bouquet in hand. The same people set a few years apart. The Molesley's.

"I see you found Dad's favorites of us."

She jumped a bit at the sudden appearance of his voice and stood up straighter. Facing him she grinned sheepishly, "Sorry. I didn't mean…"

He was leaning against the doorway that separated the two rooms, an easy smile crept across his face and shook his head with a slight shrug.

Taking his nonchalance about it, she picked up the frame and examined them more closely. "Your Mum was beautiful," She breathed softly, noticing her son shared the same quiet smile.

"Yeah…she was." He pushed off from the wall and moved beside her as he spoke, "She hated being photographed. I think those are really the only two we have of her still. Dad wasn't really into that sort of thing. We probably have more photographs of plants and flowers than of us." Looking down at the photograph, he admitted, "You know, I just realized…I don't know anything about your family."

She tensed a bit. She'd been waiting for this. And simultaneously dreading it. Chewing on her bottom lip, she set the frame down on the table.

"I don't really have a family," She admitted in a single breath.

"But I mean ye had to…have a Mum and Dad at least," He tilted his head to one side, trying to steal her eye.

Looking back at him she stated evenly, "I did. But they're dead. So, it doesn't matter now." She reached for his hands, and squeezed, " _You_ are my family. You and your Dad. And that's enough for me."

She hoped it was enough of an answer for him. The details of her past weren't as bright and shiny as she had no doubt his had been.

He studied her for a moment longer and then nodded. The matter was closed for now. She didn't wish to discuss it and he didn't wish to sully the mood by bringing up things that made her tense.

Tonight was for them. Which is why he suggested, "Once we get our wedding photo. We should place it with Mum and Dad's. What do you think?"

"Oh, but you have to keep that other photo of your parents, Joe," She insisted softly.

"I will, I will." He bobbed his head, "But I think it would be nice. Dad would like it too. Pictures of _all_ the Molesley's out for guests to see."

She smiled at this, feeling the pressure rise up in the back of her nose, her eyes tingling from the tears that threatened to fall. It had been so long since she felt like she was right where she belonged. And she would have to leave it all behind.

Her vision went glassy, and he frowned sadly. "Oh Phyllis, what is it?"

"Suddenly, I-I don't want to go tomorrow." She felt her strong resolve slowly begin to crumble, and he pulled her into his arms.

"I know," He breathed against the crown of her head, planting soft kisses there. "I know, I don't want you to either."

"I'd surely lose my job if I refused," She blubbered. "And I love my job."

His arms tightened around her, "I know. I know, love. It's only…temporary." He placed another kiss at her head holding her body close to his.

"I know," She sniffled. "I know, I'm being silly." She untangled herself from his hold, taking a few deep, soothing breaths. "Today is supposed to be happy. Not sad."

"But it's ok to be a little sad. We both knew when we agreed to this…our time would come later."

She nodded, "I know."

"And we can…" He paused, she watched the hesitation course through his eyes as he spoke the next words with a sort of flinching, "…we can wait if you don't wish to…we don't have to do _that_ tonight if you don't want to."

"That's not fair to you," Phyllis gripped him beneath the arms more tightly, drawing his body close to hers again.

He shrugged looking elsewhere, "If it would make you happy…" His voice broke off and he shrugged again.

She could tell it wouldn't make him happy. But she could see his love for her was plain, and he did mean those words. He wasn't just saying them. Chewing on her bottom lip she weighed her options. She could refuse him, but then she would not have anything physical imprint of him on her. Or she could comply and risk having a piece of her heart broken at having to leave him. Even if it was a temporary absence.

Looking up at him, she saw him studying her intently. It made her heart skip a beat. He wanted her touch, desperately. Her feelings were reflected in that single look he gave her. Which gave her the answer she needed. Her throat clogged with something sounding like desire, "No. No, what would make me happy is sharing a bed with my husband. And knowing that he loves me. In spite of everything."

He twirled a flyaway piece of hair that dangled in front of her ear before brushing it back. "I do love you, Phyllis. No matter what."

* * *

It didn't last very long, but they basked in the ability to be naked and together. To feel their bare skin against skin, and the rhythms of their hearts joining as one song. He stroked her long tresses that snaked down her bare back while she pressed her lips to the place where his shoulder and neck met.

"I'm sorry if that wasn't…" He began for the third time, which prompted her to prop herself up on her elbow and place her finger to his lips.

"Don't," She instructed him plainly, her dark eyes meeting his in the semi darkness of his, now _their_ , bedroom. Without saying anything more, she lowered her face to his, touching her mouth to his in a gentle kiss. She heard him swallow hard, and then exhaled shakily. His fingers ran through her wavy hair, smoothing them behind her shoulder.

She slowly took his hand that pressed against her shoulder blade, and wordlessly brought it around to cup her breast. Phyllis shifted above him, her legs straddling either side of him as she leaned forward.

Kissing him purposefully, his fingers tightened around her breast and her hips grinded against him. "You must stay," She whispered a bit haughtily, reaching behind her to feel his hardening member. "Stay right there," She instructed softly, her hand squeezing him in contrast to the soft words that spilled from her lips.

"Oh Phyllis…" He moaned in response, his body arching so she held him more firmly in her hand.

She smiled to herself at being able to elicit such pleasure from him. She enjoyed his raw, unrefined reactions to her gestures. And to show him, her lips found his and she kissed him hungrily. Her hand stroked him, tightening as she went.

"Phyllis I…" He gave into her stroking hand, rolling his head back and exhaling deeply.

Her hand moved faster, her thumb deliberately rolling at the end of each gesture. Her mouth devoured his neck, his jawline, his lips. All the while his hands cupped both of her breasts, forefinger and thumbs gently tugging at her nipples. The tension between them built faster and faster, the apex of their end nearly reached.

And then he practically growled at her, his desperation for it to end differently coming to a climax, "I want you. Now."

They were a graceless tumble of limbs, but he managed to roll on top of her, his legs sinking between hers. She willingly spread them, her hips reaching to join his, wanting him just as desperately as he wanted her.

He pushed inside of her, and she moaned half in pleasure, half in pain. And he took great care to pause, to drop kisses along her neck and collarbone, to feel the tight, inviting warmth of her sex.

And then her feet pressed into his buttock, her arms reaching up to encircle his neck. And she muttered into his ear before kissing him just behind his earlobe, "Make love to me, Joe."

He pulled his mouth away from her heated flesh, and their eyes met. His were full of tenderness mingled with yearning. She hoped hers mirrored something similar. She lifted her head desperately, fusing their lips together.

"Please," She muttered once more before dropping back against the bed. Her heels dug into his backside, and her insides writhed with an indescribable want for him.

His eyes fluttered closed at her wistful insistence, and he slowly began pumping inside her. The pace was slow, but soon built faster at her urging. It wasn't long before he spilled his end inside of her for a second time, collapsing atop her chest, his shoulders shuddering a bit as his mouth left a trail of light kisses at her bare shoulder.

"Oh Joe," She sighed airily, her arms reaching up to hold him tightly against her naked body.

"You won't forget this, will ye?" He wondered, his words shielded by the curve of her bare shoulder.

Her fingers stroked the back of his head, another kiss just above his ear. "Never," She assured softly.

Once their breathing returned to normal, they lay side by side, the blankets tugged up around them. Her hand rested at his hip, his across her right shoulder blade. "I don't want to sleep," She murmured, her words heavy with the after effects of their love making.

"Me either," His fingers traced the top of her back, tangling lightly through her hair. "It was...a good day, yeah?"

"One of the best," She assured him, relishing in the dull ache between her legs. She would take a piece of him with her now.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a dull ache inside her chest when all movement ceased for the day. She would crawl into her bed and fold her emotions beneath the flat pillow she clung to before sleep reluctantly descended on her. Baxter felt herself simultaneously longing for someone to share her room with while wishing to be left utterly alone with these melancholic thoughts.

The only beacon of hope she found was in the letter he pressed firmly to her chest just before she walked through the back gates of Downton. As Baxter fell asleep each night, she replayed the memory again and again in her mind; willing him to pass through her dreams.

 _She stopped once they reached the stone pillars that lined the grounds of the Big House. The wrought iron gate was already open for the deliveries, the lower half of the house bustling with preparations for the trip._

 _There was a cool mist cloaking them as the darkness slowly broke. The sun wasn't quite risen, but night was fading faster with each passing moment._

 _Baxter turned to face him and inhaled a shaky breath. She glanced down between them, not trusting herself to stay strong when she caught_ that _look in his eyes. She had to stay strong for the both of them. Clearing her throat, she blinked several times and looked back up at him._

 _She managed a weak smile, "It's only three months."_

 _Molesley bobbed his head wordlessly. His grey eyes pooling with the depth of his emotions._

 _"And we'll write, yeah?" She went on, feeling the quiet tears gathering in her eyes as well._

 _"Course," The word came out of his throat gravelly, but he flashed a reassuring smile._

 _Baxter reached up to touch the side of his face, "I love you, Joe."_

 _"And I love you," He returned softly, bringing her other hand to his chest as he drew her nearer. His mouth touched hers several times in succession, and he drank her in languidly._

 _She kissed him back, her lips pressing more fiercely to his. She wanted him to remember, she wanted to feel his mouth against hers in the days and weeks that would follow._

 _They spent the early hours of morning stoking the fire of their desires, and it still burned as they kissed goodbye now._

 _Molesley broke their mouths apart, planting several kisses at both of her cheeks, prompting her to smile. His lips descended then to the curve of her neck, and she purred in delight from the sensation. His breath tickled her, and she bent her head forward similarly to kiss the underside of his jaw. She inhaled his sharp, piney scent mingled with the floral notes of lavender. The sensation of his lips coupled with memories of their morning joining together made her moan in delight._

 _With this signal, he stopped kissing her, knowing it would never end, but it had to. She felt his arms fasten tightly around her body and she managed to wrap hers around him to return the tight embrace._

 _They stood there, holding one another tightly for several moments. The only sounds around them were the rustling of crickets and the chirping of birds._

 _Clearing her throat once more and sniffling back emotions, Phyllis pulled back enough to regard his face. "Thank you for understanding."_

 _This touched him in a way that was so utterly like him and he smiled broadly. "I know how much it means to you."_

 _"You tell me if I need to come home. If something happens and I need to…I will…"_

 _"Yeah, yeah I'll tell you."_

 _They both danced around the topic at hand, the reason that rooted him here. She would drop everything then._ If _it happened. But now her duty was to the family. She would have to set all this aside for the sake of them, for the sake of her job._

 _His arms loosened around her form, and he reached inside the front of his coat. "I uh, this is for you. Read it whenever you're alone." He pressed the folded piece of paper to her chest, and her hand clasped around it and his protectively._

And she'd read it nearly every night since she left him that morning. Since she stowed the letter away in the pocket of her coat before turning away. Her hands shoved deeply in her coat pockets; head bent down to conceal any tears that might fall to anyone who might approach her on the path towards the house. The harsh crunch of the gravel reverberating through her with each step she took that separated them.

She couldn't look back at him. She would lose her nerve and race back to him. And with it, she would lose her livelihood. The one thing she had worked towards her whole life and felt proud of.

She never expected anything more out of life. And now that she had more, Phyllis didn't know how to feel about it all in relationship to one another.

There was a vulnerability associated with being so open with one's heart. And she had been that way with Joe time and time again.

Now she wasn't just showing him her heart, she had given it to him. She supposed that it what made her feel so much now that she was in Newport, without that piece of herself. Without him.

* * *

He promised her that he would find some purpose beyond being her husband. All he wanted to do was lavish her with love and spend every waking moment with her. But that wasn't possible. She was gone. Temporarily of course, but in his experience, time had a funny way of seemingly dragging on for ages when one dreads living without something vital.

But still, he promised her. So, he sat in the emptied-out school room, waiting for Mrs. Pierce to arrive with her son, Thomas. The lad was struggling with his arithmetic and would likely have to be held back a year before he could advance. His mother of course, begged for leniency yet Mr. Moleslely said short of him attending summer tutoring sessions, he couldn't rightfully advance Thomas ahead.

So, she agreed to allow Mr. Molesley to tutor Thomas in order to advance him to the next level. He understood her concerns; she wanted the best for her son. He supposed he would too if he had children.

Molesley sat at the desk in front of the schoolroom, comparing records of Thomas' past examinations with several textbooks that held examples of practical application. He had an idea that perhaps young Thomas was someone who struggled with the abstracts theories that mathematics often presented. His solution to remedy this was to apply theory in practical situations that would show the boy everyday use of the subject.

As he copied out a handful of problems, he was startled by a soft knock in the doorway.

"Mr. Molesley?"

He glanced up quickly and saw Thomas and whom he suspected to be his mother. Mrs. Pierce's hand resting a top the ten-year old's shoulder as she smiled genially in his direction. "Oh, Thomas…Mrs. Pierce, I presume?"

His chair screeched against the floor as he pushed it back and stood to meet them. He shook her hand, and her smile deepened, lines appearing at the corner of her vibrant green eyes.

"Did we startle you?" She half questioned, half chuckled, as though this were amusing.

He chuckled a bit nervously, shaking his head as he mumbled, "Oh no…no not at all." Gesturing over his shoulder he explained, "I was just uhm…preparing for our session today is all." He turned back towards her with a shrug.

She inclined her head in quiet reply, blondish waves peeking out from the bottom of her weathered maroon cloche. "We're ever so grateful to you for agreeing to help us," She went on before patting her son's shoulder with her gloved hand. "Aren't we Tommy?"

The young boy with sandy hair nodded his head, eyes sweeping up to Mr. Molesley's rather anxiously before settling on the ground in front of him.

Molelesly could feel his nervous energy, clearly embarrassed by the fact that he had to be indoors learning equations when his classmates were outdoors, enjoying their summer holiday.

"Well uh, the pleasure is all mine," Mr. Molesley assured. Taking in the sharp brilliance of Mrs. Pierce's eyes, he felt both of them were a bit nervous, as though they were anticipating some type of medical procedure. So, he supplicated, hoping to alleviate any awkwardness, "Tommy was top notch is all his other subjects, so there's no shame in needing help in one of them."

"Thank you for saying so," Mrs. Pierce replied, giving her son's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Shall I pop out while you begin? Or would you mind me sitting in on this first lesson?"

"Oh, whatever you like," Mr. Molesley shrugged again. "I was thinking I would have Thomas take a practice examination, just to see what areas we ought to really hone in on. Then Thomas and I can go through the more trying problems step by step on the big board here. Sound fair, Thomas?"

He shrugged, "I guess."

"Go on Tommy," Mrs. Pierce nudged him forward encouragingly. "Mr. Molesley's only here to help."

Molesley placed paper and pencils on one of the front desks, and Thomas settled in to work on solving them. He then moved off towards the doorway where Mrs. Pierce still hovered, her hands clasped tightly on her square handbag.

"Mrs. Pierce, you can have a seat if you like," He gestured towards the classroom desks. "As you can see, there's plenty of choices."

She laughed a bit at this remark, lowering her gaze through heavy lids. "Yes of course, thank you, Mr. Molesley."

He couldn't help but watch her retreat to the back of the room. She was slender like most women with a reddish-brown day dress that fell at mid-calf. He noticed a few snags in the back of her nude colored stockings, and the top of her white collar was a bit flat as opposed to stiffly pressed.

Phyllis always mended her stockings and took great care to press her collars. At least, he recalled from her smart appearance when they both were at Downton.

The only sounds that filled the classroom where the hollow clicking of her shoes followed by the intermittent scratching of Thomas' pencil against the paper.

When she turned to face him, Molesley looked away quickly. He felt his cheeks flush with an unexpected warmth at being discovered for staring. He hadn't meant to. It wasn't meant in a way that she likely perceived.

The entire time he had been thinking of his wife, and the similarities and differences between them; missing someone you loved made you search for them in other people.

He moved back to sit at his desk and bent back over the book, searching for additional problems that might be of use to Thomas Pierce.

At the end of the first session, Molesley flipped through his workbook, copying page numbers and problems on a separate slip of paper. An assignment of sorts for Thomas to complete before their session next week.

"Alright Thomas, let's see what you can make of these problems…" He trailed off before tucking the slip of paper inside the front flap of the book. "I want these down before we start again next week. Depending on how you do, we can determine if you need to come twice a week or if once a week will suffice. Fair enough?"

"Sure." He took the workbook that Mr. Molesley handed him.

"That's a good lad," He stood, silently dismissing him.

Mrs. Pierce approached his desk, taking the book from her son. "You can run along now with your friends now darling," She patted his shoulder.

The boy didn't need telling twice. Sharp as a whip and he was practically jogging out of the classroom, towards the sunshine and freedom.

His mother chuckled softly her warm gaze settling on Molesley's. "He'll be out until the street lamps come on, no doubt."

"Nothing wrong with that. I was the same way at his age," He answered, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze.

"How much do I owe you for the lesson?" She tucked the book under her arm to open her hand bag, effectively fishing out her pocket book.

He told her, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Gracious," She breathed before handing over the notes, "I should have become a school teacher myself if I knew what the earnings were like."

His cheeks flushed and he merely laughed.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," She began tentatively. "But if that's the going rate, I'm going to have to insist that we keep it to once a week." Her pale cheeks flushed an embarrassed rosy hue, "I hope you don't mind."

His stomach flopped at the subject of payment. He'd offended her. At this notion, he began stammering, "Oh no…I…of course we could discuss other terms…if you would like to discuss it with your husband even?"

She exhaled and explained in one swift phrase, "My husband's dead, Mr. Molesley."

His eyes widened at the indifference in her tone, and he went on a bit uncertainly. "Oh I-I-I am…sorry. Sorry to have assumed that he was…"

"It's alright," She interjected, lifting a hand reassuringly. Her mouth curved into a strained smile, suggesting she was used to quelling the awkwardness others felt at such a blunt admission. She swallowed and then explained lightly, "It was a long while ago. He died at the front. Tommy was just a baby. We barely knew one another before we married, and he was off fighting."

He nodded slowly, feeling a flicker of mild recognition at this sensation. "That must have been…terrible for you. I'm sorry you had to…"

"It's alright," She shrugged. "I still have a piece of him with him in Tommy. So I am grateful for that." She reached up to the silver chain that hung around her neck, stroking it unconsciously. Tilting her head to one side she added, "Honestly, I'm a little surprised you didn't hear. I thought the whole village knew about the ones we've lost during that time."

He thought back on it, and the name Pierce didn't stand out in the grander scheme of things that transpired over those years. Instead of mentioning this though, he merely explained, "Well I'm afraid I wasn't spending much time in the village during those days."

"Oh no? Are you a transplant then?"

"Oh no! I was born and raised here. But I…well before I became a schoolteacher, I worked at Crawley House as the butler and valet. And then as a footman at Downton Abbey."

"My…you've seen more of the world than I have," Her eyes lit up with curiosity, the edges of her mouth remaining transfixed in a smile.

He shrugged, feeling a bit flustered by this, "Well I…I don't know about that."

"That's fascinating. Tell me," She shifted her weight onto the other hip, "what are Lord and Lady Grantham like?"

He set to work on gathering his books and organizing his paperwork as he informed her politely, "Very fair employers. My wife still works as ladies maid to Lady Grantham." He glanced up at her, and she cocked her head to the other side interestedly.

"Really? They allow you to marry? I thought all service workers had to be married to their job."

"Well uh…"

"Forgive me if that was rude," She reached forward, her hand just falling short of his jacket sleeve.

"Oh no." He shook his head, brushing it off. "That _was_ the way of things for a long while. But…Lord and Lady Grantham see that the world is changing. And they're adapting as best they can."

"So, they're _modernists_?" Surprise rang out like a pleasant melody in her question.

"Well I don't know about that." He placed his books inside his bag, pausing to consider her assessment. "But they are good people. And they care well for their employees."

"Hm…" She considered his words, her eyes staying on his before looking back to his bag that he was continuing to stuff. Jerking her head towards the door, she mused, "Well I believe I've taken up too much of your time already. I best be going. Thank you again for working with Tommy."

"Of course," He inclined his head. "Good day to you Mrs. Pierce."

"Same to you, Mr. Molesley."

He watched her go and couldn't help but reflect on what he just learned about her. Perhaps he should have offered to continue Tommy's tutoring sessions free of charge. But he had already offended her once by presuming additional lessons would come easy. He didn't wish to offend her further by offering some sort of charity.

It was in this moment, he wished Phyllis were there. She would offer sound advice. If he wrote it to her in a letter, the problem might be worked out by the time she learned of it.

No, he would have to figure this out on his own. He only hoped that he would come up with the right solution in the matter.

* * *

 _ **Don't worry. It's not headed in the direction you likely think it is. And I will share some letters they've written to one another next chapter. Hope you're enjoying it!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_My Dear Mrs. Molesley,_

 _I've taken your advice and will be offering tutoring services throughout the summer. So far, I only have a couple of students, Thomas Pierce—who needs a bit of assistance with his mathematics lessons and Ava Brinsley—she merely wishes to learn more. How am I to say no to that?_

She smiled as she read about his time working with the students. The pride and passion he could convey in his work made her heart glad. She was familiar with the feeling, in a different capacity, of course, but she understood this part of him. The quiet sort of pride he exhibited mirrored her own. And she supposed this is why they were drawn to one another initially.

Phyllis shifted in the chair before reading further on to the next section. She felt her heart begin to swell with sweet affection for him.

 _It will undoubtedly feel good to know that I am being useful to them. But it shall also make me feel I am doing right by you by bringing in a bit more security for us. We can set the earnings aside for something special one day. I should love to take you away somewhere for a time, even if it's only for a few days. Even if it is only to London. Once you feel comfortable telling her Ladyship about our union, of course. I won't press it now. You were right to say the timing wasn't well placed with Old Lady Grantham's passing._

 _I like to think with the way things have gone for others—Mr. Carson & Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Bates & Anna—that they would be happy with the arrangement. They are understanding than most employers. As I'm sure you have more experience with this than I do. _

_Just thinking of you so far away, it brings a pain inside of my chest. Oh, my dear, how I miss you. What you wrote about previously, I find myself doing as well. When I wake up and realize it's not you that I am holding, but your cushion, I feel a sharpness inside my heart. I have been counting down the days until you will return to me. I cannot wait to feel you in my arms once more, to smell the soft scent of lavender and lemons that linger in your hair._

She felt the bridge of her nose grow heavy. And Phyllis placed her fingertips to her lips, retracing the place where she last felt his touch. Blinking several times, she then cleared her throat and went onward, trying to ignore the stitch that formed inside of her heart. She wanted him desperately. And to feel the longing build up inside with no promise of release practically drove her to tears.

 _I do not write this to incite guilt in you for leaving. Nor do I wish to make you sad. I am immensely proud of you and your position. I know you find joy in your work just as I do in mine. I write this, so you know that my love and longing for you runs as deep as the ocean that separates us._

 _I hope all is well with you. I think about you every moment I am not occupied with tutoring. That fortunately, demands my full attention. But the moment I arrive at the cottage, I feel your absence. Even this past week when we worked in the garden, I often wondered what you were doing. Tell me everything, darling. I want to hear about it all._

 _Things are well here. Dad was feeling up to being in the garden this past week. He can no longer get down on hands and knees, but he can offer his assistance with the potted plants and window boxes. He tends to it all seated in a chair and can only be out for an hour or so before the coughing or fatigue hits him again._

 _We've only had a few fair days. But something is better than nothing, I suppose. He misses you as well, he tells me very often._

 _I look forward to your return. I cannot wait to shower you with all the love and affection I feel building up inside of me._

 _Your loving husband,_

 _Joe_

She exhaled heavily after reading the letter. It was dated from the previous week. Communication would be slow, but each word would waft through her like a lazy summer breeze, tempering her feelings. She lifted the paper to her nose and inhaled once more. The faded scents of soil and flowers reached her.

 _Joe_ , she thought warmly.

It was hard to tell if it were the remnants of his scent or if her mind was merely manufacturing it. "Don't be ridiculous," She muttered to herself, sniffing back the emotions his loving words stirred within her.

She swallowed the lump in the back of her throat and began gathering the paper she brought along and her ink pen. Uncapping the black pen and dipping it, she breathed in and out a couple of times in an attempt to gather her thoughts.

Finally, she set to writing, the only sound in her single bedroom was the scratching of the pen tip across the rough sheets.

 _My Dearest Joe,_

 _I am glad to hear you finding such fulfillment in tutoring. It seems an ingenious way to spend your time, really. Of course, I say this because it was my suggestion._

Her lips curled at the edges at this quip, she hoped would inspire a chuckle from him.

 _But I think it goes beyond me being right about it. It pleases me to hear you find professional fulfillment while helping others and earning something for us in return. I am so very glad for you._

 _And I am even gladder to hear that Dad is having good moments. My only regret is that I am not that to witness them. But it does bring me joy to hear how happy it makes you. I can only imagine how lovely the garden must look, knowing your loving, gentle hands have tended it._

 _How I miss those hands caressing me, holding me. I long so much to feel your touch. You must think me an ill-mannered woman to say such things. But I cannot deny how much I burn for you, Joe. I cannot wait to be with you once more and to show you precisely how deep my desire to have you near is. It is even deeper than the ocean, if such a thing could ever be possible._

 _I am trying to busy myself with tasks, so as to not allow these thoughts and feelings to entirely consume me. But I thought you might need to hear just how much I anticipate our reunion. I pray you will forgive me if it feels improper._

 _His Lordship and Her Ladyship are enjoying their respite. With so many close neighbors they have not yet stayed the night anywhere outside of Levinson Manor. They are planning a trip to the seaside soon. And they'll even allow the staff to enjoy an afternoon off as well._

 _Things aren't as regimented here as they are at Downton. Mrs. Levinson only employs a housekeeper who doubles as a cook and maid. She keeps a ladies' maid who also doubles as a second house maid who also assists with the cooking. And a butler, who doubles as a chauffeur._

 _It makes me glad to live in Yorkshire. I feel there's more purpose for me there than there is here. But Mr. Bates and I will enjoy our time by the sea as much as being apart from home will allow us to. I hear there's a pier here, I'm sure modeled after Brighton's. We might take a stroll on that and take in the American delights. I'll follow this letter with another, detailing what it offers._

 _I wonder if you remember the first time we sat by the sea, admiring it from the shoreline. Our hands nearly a foot apart. I remember distinctly how close they were, pressed in the warm sand. How our bodies were slightly angled towards one another. Even then some higher power drew us closer together than what would be deemed conventional by our positions in life._

 _That was the day I told you that you made me feel brave. And that I believed your strength made me feel strong. Even with things settled between Thomas and I now, I always felt safe with you around. I wanted you to know that in case I haven't made it known enough. I shall hold onto those feelings of safety and security now. I shall tell myself that it is still you who keeps me safe, even if you physically cannot be by my side._

 _I too, am counting down until the day we shall meet again. I look forward to waking up to that day the most._

 _I love you so very much. And I am so very grateful for you and your Dad._

 _Your devoted wife,_

 _Phyllis_

* * *

He never read her letters out the comfort of their bedroom. He couldn't imagine what the contents would entail and the effect they might have on him. But after reading her last one, his mind wandered one evening to their last interaction as he spoon-fed his father his supper in bed.

 _"_ _You tell me if I need to come home."_

After only a few mouthfuls of broth, his Dad was already waving him away. "No more, Joe." He rasped, the words rattling around in his throat.

Beads of sweat appeared across his brow, and he appeared waxy in the low light of the gas lamp that lay on his bedside.

"Dad," He began to protest, but was soon cut off by that lung racking cough that made his stomach tighten.

 _Her dark eyes full of deep concern, her hands tightening around his determinedly as she spoke the words, "You tell me if I need to come home."_

His hand immediately flew to his father's shoulder, and he helped shift him over to one side, pressing the handkerchief against his mouth. Once the fluid expelled from his lungs, a thick grey substance mixed with a twinge of blood, Dad settled into an uneven pattern of breathing.

He lay back against the mound of pillows that Joe tried to continuously puff up to comfort him. "I'm…tired…Joe…" He nearly wheezed out.

Joe grabbed his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "I know, Dad. Do you want your medicine?"

A slight tilt of his head signaled the answer to this question, and Joe set to work of pouring the clear liquid out into a half spoonful. It wasn't a cure, but it would take away the rattling breath and pain that pressed heavily into his Dad's chest.

Once administered, Joe sat back on the wooden chair in the corner. He watched the unsteady rise and fall of his father's chest. The doctor had determined last week that it was cancer of the lungs. There was nothing to be done that they could afford to have done. Or rather, that his Dad would allow him to make provision for.

Advanced treatments were experimental at best. And his Dad told him vehemently that he would never forgive him if he put up the cottage and all that he had saved in order to keep him alive. There were no guarantees it would work anyway. He insisted the fact that he could see his only son married off to a lovely woman was all he needed now to feel at peace.

 _"_ _If something happens and I need to…_

The argument was over, but Joe felt one waging on with himself internally as he watched his Dad now. He should tell Phyllis, but then she'd rush home. And he wouldn't want to put that sort of pressure on her to tell the Crawley's of their union. Besides, they'd made the journey already with her. To leave her Ladyship after they paid her way. It wouldn't be right. More guilt placed on the family that was unnecessary for the time being.

He'd write to her, detailing the diagnosis. But only send urgent notice when the event passed. Then she could make her decision. He selfishly hoped it would result in her swift return to him.

 _…_ _I will."_

* * *

The roar of the waves diminished among the lively carnival music and the vendors barking their trades along with fair prices. Small children giggled and wove in and out of stranger's legs, their parents shouting after them to stay close and not be a nuisance.

Mr. Bates' face creased with shock as one particular youngster skidded just in front of them, prompting him to teeter a bit with his cane.

"Sorry, Mister," The boy tipped his page boy cap, a sheepish smiling showing two rows of tiny, white teeth.

"Billy!" Came a young woman from the right, scurrying towards him. "Get over here this instant!" She stomped her foot and pointed at the wooden planks beside her for emphasis.

He hung his head and sighed heavily, slogging along to meet his mother and face whatever punishment she had in mind.

"Bit wild, they are," Mr. Bates commented lightly after he composed himself and they continued strolling along the Newport Beach Pier.

"Yes, I daresay Master George and Mistress' Sybbie and Marigold would be just as shocked as we to witness this," Phyllis quipped lightly.

He chuckled in response. And they continued walking along the pier taking in the various sights.

Phyllis eyes scanned for the least crowded view of the ocean. She found a section of wood that jutted off to the left, and nodded towards it, "Let's look over there, shall we? It appears to be free of wild children."

He acquiesced and they soon found a quiet place where they could both take in the glittering, sea green waves that foamed and bubbled beneath them. There was the sturdy, white masts of sailboats that skirted across the surface.

Mrs. Levinson mentioned to her daughter a race of some kind taking place that afternoon. While Phyllis wasn't familiar of the particulars, it was still interesting to see the American's reactions to the movement of the boats.

One in particular turned sharply, the bottom of the boat exposing itself, which in turn caused several eruptions from the spectators around them. Phyllis glanced up at Mr. Bates and smirked, he in turn arched an interested eyebrow.

"Well…we can't say we aren't having an "American experience," now can we, Mr. Bates?" She jibbed before returning her attention out to see.

"We certainly cannot Miss. Baxter," He agreed with like amusement. After a moment passed between them, he mused out loud, "I wonder what Anna would make of this. William would likely enjoy it and join in with the wild ones."

She laughed a bit at his assessment. Then her thoughts turned towards home like his. She replied, "I should think Mr. Molesley would react similarly to us. Although he probably wouldn't even mind the children."

Phyllis cast a glance over her shoulder and saw a pack of them running, paper kites flapping noisily behind a few of them.

"Last one to the end is a rotten egg!" One of them shouted, and a stampede of tiny boots rushed towards the far end of the pier.

One of the girls let the frail frame of a kite slip through her fingers and it skyrocketed into the air. A pang of something she never quite knew shot through her. And she felt her gaze tear away from the raucous children.

No sense in being sad about something you never wanted and likely couldn't have, she thought as the racing sailboats stole her attention once more.

Suddenly one of them turned abruptly, cutting off another one and forcing it to change course.

She inhaled sharply, "Gracious!"

"Near miss," Mr. Bates marveled a bit anxiously.

The men aboard were nimble as supernatural beings, quickly navigating choppy waters and calculating opponents. Phyllis wasn't sure if they were reckless or just hungry for the fame and glory associated with winning. Lady Grantham had mentioned a cash prize and of course, something all men couldn't do without, bragging rights.

As the boats began disappearing to the other side of the pier, the crowds shifted a bit. Phyllis and Mr. Bates reluctantly moved to the opposite side of the pier, though being pressed right up against the rail was unlikely this time.

Upon seeing the kites bobbing against the blue skies in the near distance Phyllis gestured for Mr. Bates to see them as well, "You should have brought them, Mr. Bates. You could have made a holiday of it."

He squinted at the kites, the sun beaming into his face before he turned so his back was towards it. "Oh you know how it is, Miss. Baxter. There's no holidaying for us when it doesn't suit the family's plans."

She exhaled and shrugged. Then after a moment she cocked her head to one side, peering up at him from beneath the wide brim of her hat, "I thought you were going to leave Downton, Mr. Bates? Start up the bed and breakfast proper?"

He rolled back his shoulders and thought for a moment, his eyes scanning the back half of the pier with the stalls and vendors selling their delights. "I would like to but…I don't know." He shifted his weight and muttered something that sounded like, "his Lordship would likely…well…" Their eyes met once more before he felt he could finish, "I feel a sense of duty to stay on with him. At least until he no longer finds having a valet useful. I doubt he could find a replacement."

She understood. He knew if anyone would understand it would be her. She was his counterpart in service. And she too knew the dwindling demand and therefore supply, of ladies' maid in existence today.

Phyllis added a bit tentatively, "You know, I often wonder how I can manage it all. Being married to Mr. Molesley while remaining loyal to the family."

Mr. Bates nodded, taking in her words before he offered his own, "It's a bit like doing a balancing act on top of a wire that stretches across the sea. Especially with a little one."

Baxter's hand unconsciously fluttered to her waist at this mention, and she laughed softly. "I'm sure. How do you manage it?"

He cocked his head to one side and teased, "I have a very patient and understanding wife."

"Do you ever wonder how far her patience and understanding stretches?" The question came out faster than she anticipated, and she found herself biting her lip and wishing she hadn't asked it. She was letting the side down. And even if it was only Mr. Bates, she inwardly chastised herself for doing so.

"I don't have to." He paused and then leaned closer to offer gently, "And neither do you, Miss. Baxter. Not where Mr. Molesley is concerned."

Phyllis smiled, feeling that familiar heaviness creep behind her eyes. She lowered her gaze, grateful for Mr. Bates' kind words. She needed to hear it from someone else who knew Mr. Molesley. Such strong emotions that she felt for her new husband could be blind to reasoning. She was glad to hear her love for him wasn't.

Her thoughts were again interrupted by the rolling of wheels followed by the sharp shouts of: "Lemon popsicles! Get yer lemon popsicles here!"

She looked up at the ice box he was rolling and the neatly painted sign on the side. Nudging Mr. Bates on the arm, she suggested, "Shall we have a…popsicle?"

"What on earth happened to ice lolly's?" He seemed almost as taken aback by the word as she was.

Chuckling she replied, "I think it _is_ an ice lolly."

"Right…well, I suppose when in Rome. When in America."

"And it is hot," She began rifling through her purse for a few coins. "My treat…" She flashed a friendly smile and hurried over to purchase them before he could protest. When she returned, he tried paying her back to procuring the iced treat, but she quickly pointed out and forced the treat into his free hand. "Don't bother. Hurry up now, it's melting."

He grumbled something unintelligently, smiled gratefully at her and then accepted the cold treat. After a few moments of sucking on the flavored ice, he looked at her, "It's not half bad."

"It's essentially an ice lolly," She shrugged.

"Another turn of American phrase mystery solved," Mr. Bates chided.

She laughed, biting into the lolly, letting the cold ice melt inside her warm mouth.

Checking his pocket watch, Mr. Bates informed her that they should start heading back to Levinson Manor. The sailboat race appeared to have reached its end, unbeknownst to them, and the spectators were headed home as well.

They spent some time in companionable silence until Mr. Bates wondered, "Are you going to tell them?"

"Hmmm…?" Phyllis looked over at him, finishing off the lolly and now looking for a wastebasket to throw away the stick.

"About you and Mr. Molesley?" He added.

She tossed the stick into a nearby basket, not quite sure how to respond. She nearly retorted back by asking: _How much did Mr. Molesley pay you to say that?_

But Mr. Bates supplicated, "They'll understand. You know they will."

"I believe they will, yes. It's just…" She trailed off, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts on the matter. Finally, she settled on admitting, "I don't know how to bring it up. And it seems somewhat distasteful to mention it so soon after Old Lady Grantham's passing."

"They might enjoy a bit of good news?"

"Yes, it is good news, very good news," She blushed as her smile widened at the thought of it. "But…well if they know now…" She sighed before continuing, "…they might carry the guilt of unknowingly separating us. And I don't want to add to their grief. Lady Grantham's been gone less than a month. His Lordship may not say it's affected him, but I can see when he comes through each night that _it has_. And Her Ladyship does what she can but…" She shrugged, glancing further down the street.

"You are right about that." He considered her words deeply before adding a bit apologetically, "I know it's not my place. I only wondered."

"I know," She smiled, ensuring he understood she didn't think him indecent for asking. "And your reassurances are most welcome, Mr. Bates. As is your company."

He inclined his head in response, "The American staff does leave something to be desired. It does make me even miss Thomas."

She laughed loudly at this remark, committing to memory the pieces of their conversation she would relay to her husband in her letter later that evening.

* * *

 **So I had planned on explaining if the Crawley's knew briefly, but due to everyone's interest in this. I kind of expanded it further. Plus, I think Baxter and Mr. Bates can relate well to one another and I just wanted her to have a friend in the "brave new world." Also I didn't really proof it, so sorry if this sucks.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Ok so it REALLY is unlike me to update so soon! Just check my "in progress," fics and you will see what I mean. But I wrote this in the same sitting as the last chapter, so we got lucky. I do have a general idea of where this storyline is headed though if that makes any of you feel better. :) Thanks again to everyone whose taken an interest in this fic even after all this time! And thanks to those who have shared their thoughts! It is much appreciated!**

* * *

 _It's cancer._

The words glared up at him as he wrote them seated at his desk in the classroom. He had started and stopped this letter nearly a dozen times over the last couple of days. He knew he had to tell her, but he struggled to find the precise words. How could he tell her without stirring up alarm inside of her? Or worse, guilt. How could he tell her without pressing her to bring their union up to Lord and Lady Grantham? He didn't want to be _that_ sort of husband.

She had gone this long making her own choices, living her life just how she liked it. How could he possibly tell her otherwise? And yet, she'd asked him to tell her if he needed her to come home. He did, even if his manly pride wouldn't allow him to admit it or to disclose it to her. He needed her in more ways than he could ever adequately convey on paper.

Which is why this one gave him so much trouble. Which is what brought him to break his own rule of writing to her outside the safe confines of their cottage bedroom. Time was of the essence when it came to their letters. He'd already received her last one, a cheerful representation of her time spent in America, in spite of being without him. She was undoubtedly waiting for his, holding her breath each time the post came. He knew because that had been his experience as well.

The dusty smell of chalk power and squeal of his handiwork as he wrote down his step by step assessment, brought Mr. Molesley's mind to the present. Tommy Pierce was working dutifully on more problems at the chalkboard behind him.

Mr. Molesley turned slightly in his seat, watching Tommy work on the second problem he scrawled out moments ago. The lad appeared to be on the right track. He paused when he felt Molesley's gaze on him, but he managed to offer reassuringly.

"You're right Tommy, keep going down that path."

The scratching sounds continued as Tommy kept writing, and Molesley looked back down at the letter in front of him.

 _I know it sounds frightening, but at least there's a reason for his illness, no matter how cruel the diagnosis might be._

 _I don't know how much time he has. So, I don't know what I can tell you to do, my dear. Of course, I think you know I want you here. But I will not begrudge you if you feel you cannot leave Lady Grantham. You are a most loyal woman and for that I admire you. I only wish I was strong enough to tell you to stay in Newport._

A shrill screeching of chalk on board stole his attention away once more, and he noticed Tommy Pierce was finished with the third problem.

"Alright Tommy," Molesley set aside his writing papers and rose from his seat, "let's see how you did here."

Mr. Molesley ran through the scenarios in his head as he deciphered Tommy's process for solving. He had a few minor mistakes, but all in all, his accuracy was getting better.

"Well you see what you did here," He would point out when explaining why he docked half points here and there for small mistakes. But he would soon follow up with, "You're getting it, it seems though. Do you feel as though you're understanding it Tommy?"

And the boy would nod his head and offer a shy smile. He was quietly proud of himself, and it made Molesley's heart lift to see the boy's increasing confidence.

"Ok well…that's all for the lesson part of the day." Gesturing towards the black board he instructed, "Why don't you give it a good wipe down, and I will write down the page of the practice test I want you to try before next time. No using your notes though. I want you to try this all by what you've learned so far." He arched a brow and then shuffled his writing paper until he had a blank sheet in front of him.

Molesley looked up the pages he had in mind in the index of the workbook before writing them down. He included his verbal instructions of doing the test without any outside assistance.

As he finished, Mrs. Pierce knocked on the doorway, dressed in a pale green dress suit this week. She still wore the burgundy cloche with matching gloves and handbag. Mr. Molesley deduced that this was likely her only set.

"Ahh…Mrs. Pierce," Molesley gestured for her to enter the classroom. "I've just been giving Tommy his next assignment," He organized the papers neatly before shoving them into the practice workbook that Tommy had been copying problems from. Given the Pierce's financial status, Molesley had taken to also including extra paper for him to practice on, knowing it didn't come by cheap to the general population like it did to him as an instructor.

"I told him explicitly and wrote down there as well," He handed the book with papers stuffed inside to her, "no using his notes. I want to test his retention of the material."

"Aye, aye, captain," She mockingly saluted him before beckoning Tommy to come by her side. She squeezed his shoulder before wondering hesitantly, "I wonder if I might have a word with you, Mr. Molesley."

"Of course," Molesley replied amicably as he began gathering his materials and stuffing them into his messenger bag.

She turned to her son, handing him the book with paper inside, "Run this home, Tommy. Granny's fixed you some lunch."

"Then can I play with James and Billy?" He beamed up at her hopefully.

"Yes, you may," She patted his shoulder reassuringly and they watched him go.

Once alone, Mrs. Pierce faced Mr. Molesley. "This is a bit awkward for me to say but…" She paused, wringing her gloved hands before finishing in one swift breath, "…I don't feel right letting you waive the fee for Tommy's tutoring sessions."

He blinked back at her, clearly surprised by this. He thought they had settled this during last week's session, but apparently it was something that still weighed heavily on her. He informed her with a reassuring smile, "Tommy's an easy pupil to have, Mrs. Pierce. I don't mind."

"I greatly appreciate your generosity, Mr. Molesley." She returned politely before explaining, her cheeks turning slightly rosy at this admission, "But you have to understand, I feel as though I owe you a debt. And I don't quite like that feeling."

This could be understandable and so he nodded a bit. But then he glanced back up at her, explaining, "Mrs. Pierce, when I first acknowledged my passion for education, I tutored a scullery maid for free while working full time at Downton. I don't mind doing this without compensation. Especially with a student like Tommy. He really does have potential. He works hard and…"

"But I _do_ mind, you see." She smiled, trying her hardest not to seem ingenuine to his kindness. "So _please_ , let me pay you." She opened her handbag and began rifling through it.

"Mrs. Pierce," He held out his hand, placing it on her arm so as to stifle her movements. She tensed and so did he, his hand falling away before scratching the back of his ear. "Sorry I just…you're doing me favor by having me take an interest in your son's education." He looked at her directly as if to make her understand that his words held no hidden meaning, "I will never make you feel indebted to me. Or Tommy. The sum is of little consequence to me. If Tommy's able to achieve something great and do well for you and for himself then…that in itself is payment enough for me."

She looked away, blinked a few times, and then when she gathered her composure, smiled gratefully. "How lucky your wife must be to have you," She commented.

He chuckled a bit at this and shrugged, "I feel I'm the lucky one to have her."

Mrs. Pierce nodded, not saying anything straight away. Then she asked after a moment, "Do you like scones, Mr. Molesley?"

He hummed out of amusement at this question. He hadn't expected such a thing, "Uhm…sure."

"Let me bring you some for you and your wife," She insisted.

He shook his head slowly, "Oh, that's not necessary…"

"I work at a bakeshop in the next village over," She explained. "We often have extra that goes to waste. I can't promise anything specific, but we almost always have spiced scones left. So…you would be doing me a favor as well."

Molesley considered her words and inwardly decided that perhaps it would be a fair trade. Mrs. Pierce would feel better giving him something for the betterment of her son's education. And he wouldn't need to feel guilty for asking for payment that might disrupt their livelihood. Perhaps the scones might entice his father to eat more these days.

"Alright but _only_ a few," He instructed, "there's only two of us after all."

 _Hopefully soon to be three_ , he thought, realizing he needed to finish that letter if he wished to alleviate his wife's anxiety.

* * *

Molesley mentally revised the earlier sections of his letter as he walked home from the schoolhouse. His lips moved as he mumbled changes to himself, his eyes fixed out of sheer concentration. He hardly noticed anything about his surroundings that day. His mind was playing the same track over and over again while his memory carried him home without having to even think about it.

 _Perhaps do away with the past about not being strong enough. You don't want her to think you're weak and cannot live without her. You can. Well, maybe don't say that. She might interpret it incorrectly. That's not what you mean by it. No, not at all._

He crossed through the gate of their wall, mechanically closing it behind himself.

 _Maybe you should send a telegram. But it's not an emergency. What if she thinks you a nutter who cannot remain calm in these situations? Perhaps she'll find that unattractive? Gosh, you need all the help you can get in that department._

Molesley fished his key out of his trouser pocket and inserted it into the lock. He set aside his thoughts of the letter, and automatically thought about what he might fix for his Dad's super. Anything that wasn't soup was a challenge for him to get down. But every time it was soup, Dad would complain.

Still, something in was better than nothing, Molesley decided. He would heat up the beef broth that he purchased the other day at the market.

As he pushed open the front door, he was startled by the fact that his father was seated on the floor in the sitting room.

"Dad, what on…?" He rushed to his father's side, immediately bringing his arms into position that would allow him to lift him to his feet.

"Oh, good yer home," Bill rasped, gripping his son's hands as he struggled to stand upright.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Bill waved his free hand and then reached for the doorway to offer him additional support.

"Dad," Molesley's voice turned serious as he asked the obvious question, "what happened?"

"Was tired of being stuck…in that bed," He grumbled and then pulled back when Molesley began guiding him back to his bedroom. "No Joe…I want…leave me here."

"Alright, alright," Joe agreed reluctantly. "But ye can't sit on the floor. Let's try the settee, yeah?"

Bill's knees wobbled and he leaned most of his weight (which wasn't much these days) against Joe. His breathing was swallow and desperate, and the tips of his nose and ears were bore a purplish tinge. It was clear he wasn't getting enough oxygen through his body.

Molesley bit his bottom lip at this realization, swallowing the lump in his throat as he eased his father down on the settee. "Alright now," He knelt down in front of him to ask, "why did ye have to come out here?"

"I told ye," He huffed. "I'm tired of that bloody room. Open the curtains, will ye? I want to see the sun."

"Ok, but I'm going to ring Dr. Clarkson," Molesley informed him.

"What bloody for now?!" Bill bemoaned before descending into a harsh coughing fit. "He can't…do…"

"To make sure ye didn't do anymore damage to yerself by wandering around while you're alone!" Molesley retorted sharper than he intended as he strode across the sitting room.

He pulled back the curtains to reveal a semi-cloudy day. Still, he supposed it was better than what his father was used to in the cramped, back bedroom with the dingy, dirty windows.

Bill grumbled something incoherently, which Molesley purposefully ignored.

He moved back into the kitchen and dialed the doctor's number. Once the situation was explained, he set to making their lunch.

"Can ye turn some music on?" His Dad called out.

Molesley sighed heavily. How he wished Phyllis were here. His Dad wouldn't be this difficult towards her, he was sure of it. Then of course, he felt guilty for even thinking that his Dad was being difficult.

He flipped down a record and placed the pin on it. The old gramophone roared to life and a lively brass orchestra snapped to attention in their sitting room. It was a tune that made it impossible for Molesley to stay angry at his Dad.

He stirred the broth on the stove and thought of Phyllis. He wondered what she was doing this time of day. Likely bringing breakfast to Lady Grantham. He wondered if she was thinking of him. It was a daily occurrence, this line of thinking.

After several moments he heated up the broth and then set it on the table beside where his Dad sat on the settee. His mind appeared to be wandering as though the music transported him to a faraway place. For the first time in a while, there was a glimmer of contentment that worked its way across his face.

Molesley patted his Dad on the shoulder, "Do you want any bread, Dad?"

Shifting in his seat, he nodded, "Yeah…yeah that'd be good, Joe. Thanks." He patted his hand, and Joe couldn't help but smile.

Perhaps today things would be alright.

* * *

"There's no immediate damage to his ribs, which would be my immediate concern," Dr. Clarkson informed Joe as they stood in the middle of the cottage kitchen. "But I did see some nasty bruising on your father's right hip."

"Will that…I mean…is that bad?" Joe inquired, following the doctor as he made his way back through the sitting room.

"I don't think it will do any damage. He might be in some pain if he tries to walk over the next week or so."

"Should he be walking around? Or should I keep him in bed?"

Clarkson shrugged and then exhaled deeply, "We've talked about how his condition won't improve. So, to say that he needs to conserve his strength is a manner of personal opinion. I would advise though that he not move on his own. If he wishes to be out of bed, you ought to be home to help him."

Joe nodded and then remarked dryly, "Short of chaining him to the bed, I doubt he'd listen to that."

After passing through the front door, Clarkson added with a saddened smile, "He'll be exhausted the next few days. Being out of bed and tumbling like that has lowered his immunities. Don't be alarmed if he sleeps during this recovery time. But call anytime, and I'll see what can be done."

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson," Joe inclined his head and shook his hand for what felt like the umpteenth time that week.

As he watched man go, a surge of panic shot through him. _Phyllis! The letter!_ He shut the door went straight to his bag, rifling through the instructional manuals and teaching books that resided in there.

After several seconds of intense rummaging the sense of panic only intensified. It became clear to him with a sinking feeling that his best draft was no where to be found.

Had he left it on the classroom desk? No, he surely couldn't have. He always made sure the room was just the way it was when he arrived for each tutoring session. He had gathered everything, so that couldn't be it.

And then he remembered the papers he had stuffed into Tommy Pierce's practice book. With a sense of anguish, he knew he couldn't wait until next week to retrieve it. And rewriting it now felt daunting. He could never get the wording that precise a second time around.

To pop by their house now would feel inappropriate. But to wait another day when he knew his letter was already later than the time table Phyllis had grown accustomed to felt painful to him.

With a reluctant sigh, he realized he had no choice. He wouldn't be gone long, he reasoned. Dad could sleep for hours following the pain medication Dr. Clarkson prescribed.

He knocked on the front door of what he hoped to be the Pierce's faded, red brick rowhouse. An old woman appeared at the front door, and he immediately blustered.

"Oh uhm, sorry to bother you, ma'am. Is this the Pierce's residence?"

She was squat, but thicker and could probably tackle him if necessary. Bracing her arm between her and the doorframe to deter him from peeking in she replied gruffly, "Whose asking?"

"Uhm…I'm Mr. Molesley. I'm a teacher at the schoolhouse. I've been tutoring Tommy Pierce all summer." He extended his hand as if somehow this gesture might him seem like less of a threat.

"Ahh yes…Mr. Molesley, I'm Alma Pierce, Margaret's mother-in-law." She asserted, her grey eyes appraising him rather sternly. She didn't bother with shaking his hand.

Lowering his hand, he went on a bit nervously, "I realize this time of day is likely very inconvenient. I just…I think I left the beginnings of a letter in with Tommy's school things. You see, it's very important I finish it tonight and send out in the morning."

She furrowed her brow suspiciously, then folded her arms across her chest. "What sort of letter?"

"A letter for my wife," He informed her plainly.

Just then Mrs. Margaret Pierce appeared down the narrow hallway, her face lighting up with pleasant surprise then lined with slight confusion at Mr. Molesley's presence on her front stoop.

"Mr. Molesley?" She drew nearer, cocking her head to one side. "What brings you round?"

"Something about him leaving a letter to his wife in with Tommy's things?" Her mother-in-law supplicated tensely, her eyes never leaving him.

"Oh yes…I did notice that. Not to worry, I set it aside for you. Mother, dear, can you finish up the supper while I help Mr. Molesley? Do come in, Mr. Molesley while I retrieve it."

Alma Pierce gave him one last pointed look before turning to maneuver down the hallway to the swinging door that closed off the kitchen.

Mrs. Pierce disappeared into a room on the left, which was a boxy looking sitting room. The staircase jutted awkwardly into the middle of the entranceway, not leaving much room for anything else save a mirror and coat rack by the door.

Molesley peered into the sitting room, noticing a small cot lining the back wall with a roll top desk tucked into the corner at the foot of it. A curtain hung just in front of it, making a second bedroom. Mrs. Pierce was bent slightly over the desk, gathering the papers in question, which she had not folded to keep the contents private.

He realized with a flush of embarrassment that she likely read the bit of it, or perhaps Tommy had accidentally.

She glided back towards him with an easy smile, flourishing them, "Here we are."

"Thank you," He took them quickly and folded the pages in half.

"Oh, and while you're here…" She brushed up against him in an effort to make it passed the staircase and down the hall. She called over her shoulder in route to the kitchen, "…I can bring those scones to you also."

"Oh no, that…I have to hurry home," He jerked his thumb towards the front door.

She halted and then replied with a slightly deflated air, "Right of course. To finish your letter, I'm sure."

"Well yes but see my Dad…he's…not well." To say the words out loud took great effort, but once he unloaded them off his chest and into thin air, he felt pound lighter. "He has cancer of the lung, you see. I can't leave him alone for very long."

"Oh yes," She nodded and then added with a slightly embarrassed edge in her words, "I-I'm sorry I…couldn't help but notice. I didn't mean to pry." She took a few hurried steps towards him, holding her hands anxiously together, "Honest. I truthfully was just trying to understand what it was."

He supposed there was some plausibility in her explanation. And truthfully it didn't bother him much that she knew. Shrugging he offered lightly, "It's alright. I understand. Thank you, for _this_ though." He lifted the papers before remaking with a smile. "My wife will surely thank you as well. It's been a time since…well, I owe her…anyway…" He shrugged again and jerked his head in the direction of the door.

"I understand. It's hard when you're apart. Especially when it's not through your own choosing."

"Well its...a bit more complicated than that." Was he could say on the matter without giving away too much.

"It's alright," She flipped an indifferent hand, reaching for the front door. "I do hope she'll return to you soon. You deserve that." She opened it for him, waiting for him to take his leave.

"Thank you, Mrs. Pierce," He inclined his head. "That's very kind."

She smiled in response and added politely, "See you next week then?"

"Of course, goodnight," He nodded and then pressed the paper flat against his chest, his heart set on returning home to reach his wife now more than ever.


	7. Chapter 7

Phyllis tried not to feel the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as the much-awaited postal date arrived rather anticlimactically. Her letters had routinely arrived with Mr. Bates' about eight days after being written by their other halves. She could count on this consistency. So, as she watched him receive a thick envelope as they sat in the servant's quarters, she couldn't but feel an intense surge of disappointment when nothing came for her.

Her shoulders slumped forward, and her gaze took in the shimmery purple edge of Lady Grantham's latest evening gown. The needle she pushed through the thick fabric of the beaded bodice, stabbed her finger. She gasped slightly, quickly sucking on her fingertip to stall any possible blood flow. Upon bringing it away, she regarded the digit and determined it wasn't anything serious.

This thought made her consider, old Mr. Molesley. _Perhaps…_

She let the thought trail off, not trusting herself to face the feelings that might come on as a result. Instead she pointedly cleared her throat, cast a brief glance over Mr. Bates and his letter, asking with a slight gravelly edge in her tone, "How's Anna?"

"Doing well," He remarked lightly, his eyes continuing to absorb the words. After a moment's hesitation, he grumbled a bit, "It appears our lodger, on the other hand, has fallen behind on his monthly payments."

"That's unfortunate," She replied politely, pushing her needle through a string of beads, reinforcing their place along the bust.

He hummed in agreement before adding, "But she has a young couple who appear keen on renting another room for the remainder of the summer. That might ease a bit of the burden. Til he catches up."

"Oh good," She turned the dress, moving onto another string of beads.

"Lady Mary is with child again," He went on. "And is _actually_ planning to visit Lady Edith for the next month. Although she remarks on how the castle is stifling in the summer. But Anna suspects that's just her mild jealousy speaking."

Phyllis snorted at this, her mouth twisting into a wry smile. Then she set the material down in her lap and looked up, "I suppose I hadn't realized that she wrote to Lady Mary after leaving."

"Yes, she sometimes will even pay us a visit. Along with Master George," He stuffed the letter back into the envelope.

Phyllis arched a brow, "She's turned modest then."

"I suppose having a mechanic for a husband would do that for you," Mr. Bates shrugged.

"Yes," Was all she could think to remark on. She swallowed hard and looked down again at her work, forcing herself to stay busy with it.

"I'm sure…" Mr. Bates began and then paused uncertainly.

Her gaze lifted, and she found him studying her with a sympathetic expression, twirling his cane slowly with his right hand. "Yes?" She prompted.

"I'm sure he was just a bit late in posting this one," He managed to finish, his jaw clenching from the discomfort of bringing the situation up.

Her mouth drew in a tight line and she bobbed her head before bending back over her work.

There more than likely was a logical explanation for her lack of letter. But the mind plays tricks on the heart, even when it tries to rationalize things. Baxter forced her mind to the present, focused on the mechanics of the job at hand.

When her mind did begin to wander in that direction, she told herself what needed to be done next in order to ready Her Ladyship for their next outing.

 _Reinforce the beading, burn the frayed edges of the sleeves, raise the hemline, polish the jewels…_

She could do this. She had done so for how many years before. Why was now any different?

* * *

Her mind continued making lists as afternoon turned to evening, and she was helping Lady Grantham prepare for bed.

 _Lay out her bed clothes, remove her evening wear, put on the bedclothes, unpin her hair…_

She was currently plucking pins out of Lady Grantham's dark tresses, watching them fall across her back. Her room here was far smaller than back at Downton, so the proximity between bed and dressing table forced Phyllis to stand with her knees pressed against the chair as she worked.

But she didn't offer up any complaint to this, the house was grand in other ways, smaller bedrooms aside. The amount of gold finished hardware and crushed velvet that graced the main rooms was enough to attempt to compete with the grandeur of Downton. Of course, Levinson Manor lacked the history and stateliness that came with a building that existed for hundreds of years.

"How's the evening gown for the Astor's dinner party coming along, Baxter?" Lady Grantham broached casually.

Focusing on unfurling her mistress' hair, she replied softly, "I finished what you asked, Milady."

"Perfect." She smiled before shifting in her seat to gather some lotion and rub it between her hands, "Now for the hair…Mother believes I should keep it old fashioned. Since that is to be expected of an _English Lady my age_. But I was thinking something more modern. I don't want it to seem as though I've not flipped through a lady's journal since 1914."

"Very good Milady," Baxter bobbed her head, turning to place the hairpins in the box that rested on the bed. She then went on to pull the decorative comb from her hair and place it in the same location.

"The new Mrs. Astor is rumored to have shortened her hair significantly," Lady Grantham went on smoothly, rubbing lotion into her skin. "I think I should like to have the same. Nothing like those page cuts though. But it is rather thick, so maybe a light trim would help?"

"Hmm…" Baxter inclined her head, running her fingers through Lady Grantham's wavy tresses before gathering it behind her shoulders.

"Baxter?"

"Yes, Milady?" She mumbled back in reply.

"Is everything alright with you? You're rather quiet this evening."

She felt a surge of warmth rush through her body and her stomach tighten. She swallowed, not wanting to draw further attention to herself. "Uhh…fine, Milady," She replied softly, her fingers deftly moving to plait her mistress' hair. She quickly added, "I'm…just a bit tired, I suppose. I…think I…had too much sun the other day."

After feeling Lady Grantham's eyes linger on her face for several moments, Baxter breathed easier whenever she felt them move away and her mistress remark, "It _is_ hotter here. That I had forgotten."

"Yes," Baxter nodded once more.

"Missing home?" Lady Grantham cocked her head to one side, forcing Baxter to pause her ministrations and glance back at her reflection in the mirror.

"I suppose some of that too," Baxter offered vaguely, feeling her stomach begin to tighten and bubble anxiously.

After studying Baxter with an expression of mild concern, Lady Grantham sat up straighter so she could resume her work. "I suppose Bates understands that feeling as well," She went on, "missing Anna and little William, no doubt."

Feeling her throat constrict a bit she nodded, "Yes, I suppose that is difficult."

"They write though, don't they?"

"Yes."

"That is one thing I often struggled with," She commented. "Separating families. But of course, as Old Lady Grantham would say: _the hired help are to be married to their jobs, not one another._ " She raised her voice to a haughtier tone for emphasis, chuckling softly to herself.

Baxter tried to smile, knowing she was attempting to put her at ease. Yet, she felt sicker somehow at this notion.

"Still, times are changing." Lady Grantham quickly amended when she realized mentioning her late mother-in-law didn't produce the desired effect. "And I did tell Lord Grantham that we ought to have them come along. But I suppose they decided otherwise."

"I imagine the cottage hotel had something to do with it," Baxter offered.

"Yes, I suppose. I know His Lordship is glad for Mr. Bates to stay when he could so easily leave. Finding a valet in this day and age…" She trailed off and then Baxter felt her eyes glance back up at her. "I am very grateful with your service as well, Baxter. I hope you, too intend to stay."

Baxter smiled tightly, feeling a heaviness inside her chest. The knot in her stomach was nearly unbearable. "You're a very…kind employer, Milady." She finished the plait tying a small ribbon to the end of it, securing it in place.

Lady Grantham turned in her seat and smiled up at her, she placed a hand on top of hers. A rather uncharacteristic gesture that prompted Baxter to flinch a bit.

"Please do rest," She insisted in her stern, maternal tone. "I do not wish you to be ill. While I could do without you if I must, I much prefer your company to Mrs. Andrews."

Blinking several times, Baxter somehow managed a soft, nervous laugh before nodding and looking elsewhere in the room.

"But don't breathe a word of that downstairs," She squeezed her hand, and smirked impishly up at Baxter.

With a shake of her head Baxter replied solemnly, "Certainly not, Milady."

Breathing in and out deeply, Lady Grantham released Baxter's hand and inclined her head towards the door. "We'll take a look at the hairstyles in the morning, yes?"

"Of course, Milady," Baxter flashed another quick smile, swallowing back the sudden wave of bitterness that reached the back of her throat.

* * *

 _Thank God for indoor plumbing,_ Phyllis thought once she managed to empty the bitterness that lingered in the back of her throat.

She knew that fish had smelled wrong. She'd ask Mr. Bates in the morning if he experienced something similar. It felt rude to ask anyone else.

Once that was finished with, she retired to her own room, the only light coming from the flickering of the oil lamp at the small table that resided underneath her window. The view was nicer than the one she had at Downton.

Here she overlooked the garden. And tonight, the sky was clear and the moonbeams ripe with their silvery glow. It was enough to incite thoughts of Joe and his father. It was enough to remind her of their absence. She nearly felt sick again, but this time she didn't need to hold back the tears.

She let them silently pool in her eyes, catch on her lashes and then stream down her cheeks. There was no point in hiding it. She pulled out a sheet of blank paper and wet the tip of her pen. She then began composing a letter she wasn't sure she would intend to write.

 _My Dearest Joe,_

 _How I have come to depend upon your letters. I must admit I found myself a bit angry and jealous when the post arrived yesterday and today, and I was forced to listen to Mr. Bates read a letter from Anna when there was none from you._

 _My mind is a cruel device that has me half believing you have grown tired of my desire to remain in service already. Have you stopped loving that piece of me so readily? How could you stop when it was the very thing that drew us together?_

 _I wonder if perhaps I made a mistake in leaving so suddenly. Or if we made a mistake in wedding so swiftly. We hardly know one another. Well, not beyond the basic familiars. And well…now in other unmentionable ways now too I suppose. Perhaps we should have taken our time beyond these last four years to do so and not rushed into this. Perhaps…_

She stopped when her vision grew too blurred and her thoughts grew too cyclical and fragmented for her to focus. Her thoughts and emotions whirled around like a vicious cyclone trapped inside of her. Everything would undoubtedly sound incoherent and incomplete if she truly intended to put it all to paper.

Letting out an unsteady breath, she folded the page and tucked it away in the small hatbox where she kept his correspondences. She brought out his last one, biting her bottom lip and trying desperately to find some solace in his words.

 _Almost half the summer has slowly wasted away. I thank God for this, for knowing your return is creeping closer. I should hate to have to continue in this fashion._

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking in another shuddering breath at these words.

There might be opportunities where she was needed away for the sake of the in future. A role in service demanded that, regardless of what one wanted. Even though her Ladyship mentioned that she hated the idea of having to separate families for their own sake, the cruel part of her mind fed into this fear that she put to paper moments ago.

Had he stopped loving that part of her so readily? He mentioned that he _should hate to have to continue in this fashion_ , after all.

And Lady Grantham's words, which she meant as a great kindness merely played into those fears. _I hope you intend to stay._

Inhaling sharply, she shook her head, smacking her cheeks a bit to force the tears to cease. "Stop it," She muttered out loud. "You're being ridiculous," She stood from the small desk in her room and started pacing her room with the letter in between her hands. She continued reading, hoping to find something good that remained, something that would provide her comfort now as it had at the time of his letter.

 _I hope all is well with Mr. Bates. I haven't had a chance to pop in and look after Anna recently. Hopefully he understands what with Dad's condition and all. Dr. Clarkson is stopping by soon to determine what is wrong with Dad. Finally, he's allowed him to run some more advanced tests on him! It has only taken several weeks of convincing!_

 _I will keep you informed as things progress there. But for now, it is as it has always been. Good and bad moments. I'm keeping as busy as I can between tutoring sessions, the garden, and caring for him. Of course, I set aside most evenings to reread your lovely penmanship and to write musings that may or may not be turned into letters._

Perhaps it was just that. He hadn't found anything suitable to write about since her last retelling of events at the pier. But even so, that should have in turn aided in his ability to craft a decent response. Really, what excuse could there be for not writing straight away?

 _I look forward to the day you shall return to me. And I have no doubts that you feel similarly._

 _All my love and affection,_

 _Joe_

These last three sentences brought her a small twinge of comfort. He was still looking forward to her return and he hoped she felt similarly. Of course she did, how could feel otherwise?

Phyllis sank down on her bed, feeling that uneasiness inside her stomach once more. She carefully lay down atop the mattress, reading those last few lines over and over again until her eyelids grew too heavy and the tiredness in her limbs was too much for her to fight against.

* * *

 **Yes, so maybe this chapter was kind of pointless, but I think it needed to exist for reasons. Also, I know I'm being vague with the timeline of events here, that is intentional. I imagine they wouldn't precisely know either when things were happening for one another and such given the technology that existed during the time. Anyway, I'm writing Chapter 8 as we speak so there may be an update before I cross the raging seas (via plane) for my European vacation. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

The moment he sent the letter, things began to continuously decline. It wasn't a rapid descend, but a noticeable one. Joe spent most of his days by his father's bedside, tending to his every need. Mostly it was the administering of medicine, the changing of his clothes, and trying to feed him whatever variation of broth that didn't cause his stomach to turn.

Time seemed to warp into some unknown thing. Joe became so absorbed in the care of his father that he would need to sit and think for several seconds just to recall the day of the week. Not that he had many things to look forward to besides Phyllis' return.

Which is why the knock on the front of his cottage door came as a shock to him. His Dad had been moaning, complaining of a headache for most of the morning, and Joe took great care in providing a cool rag to his brow. Basic aspirin was nearly impossible for him to swallow and crushing it into a glass made his stomach turn almost instantly.

A bit flustered at the notion of having to entertain visitors, Joe momentarily halted when he reached the living room. An insane thought took hold of him.

What if it _was_ Phyllis? Could she have received the letter and made a return passage so swiftly? He hadn't been keeping proper track of time. And as he stood there momentarily counting the days from the time, he sent the letter to the approximate travel time it would take her, it became possible.

His heart fluttered with excitement. He bounded to the door, and whipped it open, only to feel his spirits sink dramatically.

Mrs. Pierce stood on his stoop with a smile affixed her lips, with a covered basket on her arm and Tommy in tow.

He should have known; she wouldn't knock, she had a key to their cottage after all. Trying to hide his disappointment, Joe masked it with surprise.

"Mrs. Pierce?" He arched an interested brow. "What a…surprise this is."

"Yes, I…well, that is, we've been at the school for a few hours now." She explained a bit awkwardly, her mouth tugging into a disappointed frown.

And then it dawned on him. He was supposed to administer Tommy's final examination today. The test that would determine his class for the upcoming school year.

Immediately he brought a hand to his brow and exhaled in defeat. "Oh goodness…I…" He looked back at them, a sheepish grin curling his lips, "…I am _so_ - _terribly sorry,_ Mrs. Pierce. Tommy's test it…it completely slipped my mind." His thoughts raced as he tried to come up with a comparable solution.

"Is everything alright?" Mrs. Pierce asked kindly, taking a step forward to study his expression more intently. Her hand touched his forearm out of reassurance.

Joe bowed his head and gathered himself before admitting, "Its my Dad, ye see. He's having a rough go."

"Oh I'm sorry," She bit her bottom lip, and then looked down at Tommy and back up at Mr. Molesley. Then she remembered herself and removed her hand from his forearm, "I'm sorry to intrude like this I…" Her cheeks flushed with presumed embarrassment and then she decided, "Well we won't inconvenience ye any further. But please take the scones we had promised ye?" She handed her son the basket and he presented it to Molesley.

"Yes, alright, thank you," He inclined his head, accepting the gift from the young boy. As their eyes met, Joe felt something stir in him. He held this young boy's future in his hands. And now, he could likely jeopardize it, after he agreed to help. A solution had to be found. And when it occurred to him, he sprang lively to action.

"Erm…since Tommy's prepared for the examination…I mean…I don't know when I can make it to the schoolhouse to…do this all again with…" He trailed off jerking his head behind him as he watched Mrs. Pierce's expression shift. "Would ye might want to come in and have him do the examination here? I know it may seem a bit odd, but…" He shrugged and then added with a heavy heart, "I should hate for the lad to be held up because of…well, my schedule. You may stay too as well if that makes you more comfortable."

"Oh Mr. Molesley, we couldn't put you out like this," Her eyes widened at his proposition, her voice flooding with concern, "Not with everything you're enduring. I'm sure we will…find another way. Perhaps the headmaster might show leniency since Tommy's taken the effort this summer…"

"No, no I insist, Mrs. Pierce, please. Please for Tommy's sake." He opened the door wider, beckoning them inside. "There's a table and chair in the corner there…" He pointed to the rolltop desk in the control, his voice trailing off as his eyes landed on the mountain of dishes in the kitchen and the clutter atop his kitchen table. "I'm afraid the rest is a bit…unkept. But the living area should be suitable for Tommy's exam. And I can straighten up and fetch some tea if you like. For the scones." He tried to smile invitingly at the notion, but he likely looked more manically than anything else.

With a flip of her hand, she insisted, "Oh no, I won't put you out, Mr. Molesley. Besides I'm sure…"

There was a coughing from the depths of the cottage, prompting Joe to turn back towards it. "Excuse me a moment, but please," He gestured for them both of them to enter and to sit in the front room. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back shortly."

With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Pierce relented. The momentary pleasure he received from convincing them to complete Tommy's tutoring session was short lived as he disappeared into the kitchen and then the bedroom just off from it.

Joe found his Dad leaning off to one side and gasping for air. "Dad!" He rushed to his bedside, immediately trying to stabilize his father.

In addition to the pain medication, Dr. Clarkson suggested a poultice for when these sorts of attacks occurred. It wasn't a cure, but it would ease his suffering from prolonged coughing. Joe took a handful of the sticky stuff that smelled minty and herbal all at once and gently slathered it on his father's neck and chest.

He then stuck his fingers beneath his father's nostrils, urging him to breathe deeply. After several minutes, the shallow rasping subsided. Joe settled him back against the mountain of pillows he'd constructed for Dad's comfort.

"Better now?" He brought a hand to his father's forehead, his hazy eyes locking onto Joe's.

Their hands met against Bill's cheek and he rasped, "I-I-I don't know…how much longer…when's Phyllis…?"

"Dad just breathe," Joe instructed, feeling a sort of panic rise inside his chest. He took his father's thin hand in between both of his, it felt colder now.

This couldn't be the end. It couldn't end like this. It wasn't supposed to. Phyllis was supposed to be here. Not just him and one of his student's and his mother. No, it couldn't end like this.

"Just breathe, Dad," Joe practically begged this time, "just focus on that."

"Joe…"

"Dad don't…"

"Listen!" His voice strained as he fought to regain control. "You listen. Boy you…"

"Alright, alright," Joe leaned forward, so his father could whisper his next words to him.

"Tell her…it's time. Come home."

Joe felt his bottom lip tremble and his eyes involuntarily watered. He knew what the weight of his father's words meant. Gathering himself, he cleared his throat and sat up straighter. Nodding his head, he agreed, "Alright Dad. I'll tell her."

"Good…I'm tired now…" His voice trailed off, and his eyes shut once more.

Joe placed his hand on top of the blanket and watched him for a few seconds. His breathing was labored, but steady.

It wasn't until he heard the rush of water and the light banging of pots and pans from next door that he remembered bringing the Pierce's into the cottage.

Perhaps it had been a hasty mistake. Bringing them in with his Dad so sick. But he thought of young Thomas Pierce's future. He could fix it for him. He could make _that_ right.

* * *

Mrs. Pierce took it upon herself to begin scrubbing the pots and pans and boiling some water for tea while he rushed to the post office to send an urgent telegram to Phyllis and then while he gathered the supplies for Tommy's examination.

The lad was now in the middle of it, the pots cleaned, the tea freshly made, the basket of scones between them on the table. It brought back memories from several weeks ago that brought a pang to his chest.

 _That's just what you do for someone you love._

She'd held his hand in that moment and thought the sheer intensity from the memory would incite embarrassing emotions he would rather not display in front of Mrs. Pierce.

Instead he gestured towards the kitchen before asserting, "Ye really didn't need to do all of this."

Shrugging, she poured tea for him before settling in on the chair beside his. "Ye looked as though you could use a helping hand," She remarked with a smile. "It can't be easy going through all of this alone."

He saw the pity in her eyes, the saddened smile twitching her mouth a bit and he glanced away swiftly.

"Yeah well…Phyllis will be here soon," He cleared his throat and took a sip of tea.

"Why did she go?"

"The family went to America for the summer. She's ladies maid to Lady Grantham."

"Must she always choose Lady Grantham's family over her own?"

"Well...it's…a bit more…complicated than that."

"Of course, I…I didn't mean it to be rude. I just wondered. It must be a hard life."

"It has its moments. But…not everything in life can be easy."

"I suppose not." She took a pause to sip her tea and Joe mirrored this action. Then she filled the silence with a curious question, "Why did you do this for us, Mr. Molesley?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your father is extremely ill, and you insisted upon Tommy taking the test anyway. Why?"

"I-I want him to succeed."

"It can't be just _that_."

"Well I suppose I…I go where I can help. I can help Tommy remain in his current class. I can't help…" He felt the lump in his throat return, the bridge of his nose grew heavier. "…well…some things cannot be helped by man." His voice broke off and he looked away from her, wiping fiercely at his eyes.

She mumbled before passing a handkerchief across the table to him, "I'm sorry I didn't mean…"

"I'm sorry I don't mean…"

They both paused, their eyes locking before breaking contact as they chuckled softly to themselves at the conversational misstep.

He blew his nose into the hankie, wiping away his tears before muttering, "You must think me weak."

"No…I think you're brave," She leaned forward, placing her hand on his on the table top. "Not many men would tend to their father's like this. Many would hire a nurse or put it all on their wives."

He looked over at her warily before conceding with a heavy sigh, "I suppose."

Sensing his momentary discomfort, she sat back in her seat, her hand returning to the handle of her teacup. She managed with the flash of a smile, "I hope she returns to you soon, Mr. Molesley."

"Thank you, Mrs. Pierce," He inclined his head and continued sipping his tea.

* * *

 _My Dearest Wife,_

 _I begin this letter with a heavy heart. The results of the tests have returned, and the prognosis isn't good, I am afraid. It's cancer. It's in his lungs and also very likely in his stomach, although Clarkson cannot say with absolute certainty it has spread this far. He basis the diagnosis over the combination of symptoms we've seen over the last several months._

 _I know it sounds frightening, but at least there's a reason for his illness. No matter how cruel the diagnosis might be._

 _I don't know ho much time he has. So, I don't know what I can tell you to do, my dear. Of course, I think you know I want you here. But I will not begrudge you if you feel you cannot leave Lady Grantham. You are a most loyal woman and for that I admire you. I only wish I was strong enough to tell you to stay in Newport._

 _I don't mean to disregard the tales you told me of your time at the Newport Beach Pier. It sounded so delightful, and I wished more than anything to have shared in that experience with you. How could I forget those brief moments that we too, spent by the shoreline all those years ago?_

 _I've thought of that moment since reading your last correspondence. How beautifully you smiled at me. How it made me feel uneasy because I knew there was something more beginning to form inside of my heart. A feeling that has now taken root and blossomed more beautifully than I could ever know._

 _I miss you fiercely, my dearest wife. I long for the comfort of your arms…_

Her vision had become too compromised, and she could not read on. Phyllis now knew it was her duty to tell Lady Grantham. If she explained the situation, surely allowances could be granted. How could they not be if there were once plans for Anna and William to making the crossing with Bates, if not for personal circumstances that kept them home as well?

Folding the letter inside of the envelope, Phyllis stood and resolved to tell her Ladyship the moment she was rung for. But a knock at her bedroom door prompted Phyllis to pause halfway in route to it. She opened it slowly to reveal Mr. Bates standing in the corridor.

Surprise flickered across her face, and Phyllis questioned, "Mr. Bates…?"

"This just arrived for you, Miss. Baxter," He interrupted without preamble. His face wore a solemn expression and she felt her stomach drop when she recognized it to be an urgent telegram.

 _Please come home now. Dad is asking for you. We need you. Love, Joe._

Phyllis immediately felt another wave of nausea come over here. Placing her hand over her mouth, she gently shoved past Mr. Bates and began running.

* * *

 **I know I suck leaving this on a cliffhanger. But. You can kind of see the light at the end of the tunnel and that a reunion is on the horizon, right? So there is that? Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed so far! You are all brightly shining gemstones :)**


	9. Chapter 9

It was something of an awkward situation, rousing Lady Grantham with Lord Grantham still sound asleep in bed. But Baxter supposed her countenance couldn't conceal the gravity of the situation she found herself in any longer. Throwing her dressing gown around herself, Lady Grantham beckoned Baxter deliver whatever news she deemed urgent in the adjoining sitting room; since there was not another attached dressing room at Levinson Manor like there was at Downton.

Baxter blustered through her recently news quickly, her eyes darting across the tiled floors as though she were witnessing a parade of ants. She couldn't quite bring herself to look her mistress in the eye, feeling the heavy weight of Lady Grantham's gaze on her. Out of her peripheral, Baxter could see Lady Grantham sink into a nearby settee, clearly shocked by the information and by the abruptness of its delivery.

After gathering herself for a few moments, she began softly, mild tones of disappointment seeping through her words, "Baxter, I really am surprised at you for not mentioning this sooner."

Her words jolted through Baxter, and she exhaled another shaky breath, clutching her hands together at her waist. "I know this is a terrible inconvenience, Milady, and I wouldn't even think to ask if I didn't feel it was necessary."

"Well of course it's _necessary_ ," Lady Grantham intoned incredulously. "I just cannot believe you kept it a secret all this time."

Biting on her bottom lip, Baxter admitted, "I didn't wish to leave your employ, Milady."

Leaning forward, she silently beseeched that Baxter meet her gaze, "And you thought I'd force you to? Really Baxter? After everything we've allowed?" With each successive question, her brow arched higher, her tone thinned in its shrillness.

Feeling heat wash through her face, Baxter went on, her voice stammering anxiously,"It-it-it all happened so suddenly. The proposal, the wedding, the trip was already planned…I-I felt I was doing what I had to do. I thought I was doing what was best for everyone. I-I-I don't expect you to understand but…perhaps you could forgive...?"

Lady Grantham sighed heavily, taking it all in. Shaking her head slowly she let go another heavy breath, "There's nothing to forgive."

Baxter finally saw the sadness seeping through her mistress' usually clear eyes. She continued on softly, her words calculated as she delivered them, "Just go home and be with your husband. That is where you belong." She paused for a moment, her eyes moving as though reading some invisible text. After a moment she went on kindly, "His Lordship and I will see that you are paid for the remainder of the month. _And_ your position will be waiting once we return to Downton. There will be no arguing those two points." She raised a hand whenever she saw Baxter's mouth open in protest and insisted, "We've caused you enough distress, albeit unknowingly. It's the least we can do."

She didn't know what to say. There were no words that could do the kindness Lady Grantham had just done her any justice. So she found herself blubbering again with nothing short of genuine gratitude, "Thank you, Milady. Thank you. I-I don't know how I could ever…repay…"

"Just...please be more forthright in future, hm?" A slight smile suggested that this would be suitable repayment enough.

Nodding her head, Baxter agreed readily, "Yes, Milady. Of course."

"Send our regards to Molesley. And tell him that we will pray for his father," She added with an inclination of her head, dismissing Baxter and the discussion at hand.

And even though Baxter knew heavy feelings awaited her back home, somehow in this moment, she felt lighter.

* * *

Seven days passed until Phyllis touched land again. Pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, she swallowed the bitter tasting bile that threatened to pass through her lips as she descended the gang plank to the bustling port in Liverpool.

Bells clanged, the reverberations of the cacophony causing her temples to pulse. The gruff shouts and exclamations of men prompted her to tense and clutch her cases more tightly towards her body. The smell of briny water mingled with the pungent aroma of fish, bread, and other food items that prompted her stomach to lurch.

She didn't know how she could possibly be sick again. She tossed nearly everything during the tumultuous voyage. Forcing herself to breathe through the waves of nausea, Phyllis focused on finding Thomas amongst the crowd of bustling people.

Once her feet made their way onto the cobblestone ground, she immediately felt lost in the sweeping crowds of people who wove in between available space in front of her. Her mind felt light and dizzy again, hazy spots appearing in her vision. Suddenly a firm hand cupped her shoulder and she spun around, heart hammering inside her chest.

A peal of terror nearly escaped her throat, but upon seeing him, it floated soundlessly out of her mouth. Her bottom lip then trembled before she pressed her mouth shut. Her eyes scrunched shut tightly as he slowly drew her body into his in an amiable embrace.

Dropping her cases beside them, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she clung to him. Waves of emotion coursed through her. How kind it was of him to come and be here. He didn't have to, and he wouldn't do so just for anyone. But he cared enough to do so for her. Thoughts like that often kicked up emotions like ocean waves did silt. But if he noticed, or cared to notice, he didn't make mention of this. He just held her as people pushed beyond them, searching for their next destination.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Molesley."

She could hear his cheeky grin as he said it, and this incited a light snort from her. Clearing her throat, she then pulled away, and discreetly wiped at her eyes before peering up into his warm, dark ones. "Thomas, have you heard…" Her voice stalled, the words clogging in her tightened throat, "…has there been any…news…?"

His hands clutched hers and he looked down between them, "I'm sorry to say…"

When he didn't go on, she felt her heart drop in her abdomen. She let out a gasp, like someone had knocked the wind out of her, "Oh…when did…?"

When she couldn't continue, Thomas looked up at her, and told her with a solemn nod, "Yesterday afternoon."

"Oh no…"

It was like taking another punch to the gut. She was too late. And suddenly it felt all wrong her being back. Almost like what was the point in her abrupt return if she wasn't there when he passed. If she didn't have a chance to say goodbye. If she wasn't there for her husband through the worst possible thing he could experience.

She didn't even register that they were in the car until it roared to life. Thomas was navigating it in reverse and then once he punched it into drive, she felt him pat her tightly clenched hand before adjusting the clutch once more.

"He'll be _so_ happy to see you," He offered reassuringly.

Blinking back more tears, she glanced over at him dejectedly. Her words were hollow and raw, "Will he? Or will he detest me for not being here?"

"Of course, he won't detest you," Thomas assured evenly. "When he learned you were coming home…he was _relieved_ , Phyllis."

She looked back down at her trembling hands, feeling that unpleasant churning in her gut at the thought. Her heartrate quickened and she wanted to lean forward and empty the contents of her stomach. She continued to try and suppress the urge to be sick once more, the thought of having to face her husband now seeming quite unbearable.

"Thomas I…stop the car…" Was all she could get out before feeling everything bubble up the back of her throat.

"What?" He cast a bewildered glance in her direction.

"Stop! The car!" She shrieked urgently, her hand on the door handle. He didn't even have a chance to stop the vehicle entirely or pull off properly before she had it open and the minimal contents of her morning toast and tea ended up on the gravel road.

"Phyllis!" His hand was tightening at her shoulder, trying to stop her from toppling out of the car as it jerked to a definite stop. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Ye couldn't…"

"I'm sorry…" She sniffled, wiping at her nose with the handkerchief. "I'm sorry I…I don't know what…what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing…"

The incessant blaring of the car behind them interrupted his soft tone, and he reached out the window to wave the driver on.

"Bloody arse!" He called after the car that swerved into the opposing lane to pass them, horn honking during the whole episode.

"Phyllis…" He went on in a calmer voice, "…do ye think ye can manage?"

Her throat felt raw. The bitter taste of bile lingering in her mouth. It seemed it took up permanent residence there these days. Her temples throbbed from the familiar ache of the residual headache that came and went in hard pounding waves.

In spite of it all, she nodded her head and slid back against the leather seat of the car, closing the door.

She needed to go home. Even if it was the last place she wanted to be. Even if there were ghosts there, she wasn't sure she could face.

* * *

"Are ye sure ye don't want me to…?" Thomas insisted once she took her luggage from in at the gate of the cottage's front garden.

"I'm sure," She finished abruptly. And then flinching at the severity of her response, she managed a weak smile, "Thank you, Thomas. Truly."

"Well…ye know where ye can find me should you need anything," He returned a similarly sad smile, tipping his hat before turning back to the car.

She fumbled with the latch on the front gate, having to kick it shut as she hauled both bags up to the front stoop. Once she passed through the floral archway, so awash with vegetation that the white lattice work could no longer be seen, she paused just before the door.

Should she knock? Or should she pull the key out of her coat pocket and twist it open? It was her home, but it wasn't, all in the same thought.

Part of her felt that familiar pang of longing seized her, propelling her forward. Another part felt rooted on the spot, a stranger in a strange land now. She slowly stepped in uneven paces to the door. Setting her one case down, her hand hovered in front of the door. Then she let out a sigh.

She was being ridiculous, overthinking _this_ , of all things.

In the end she fished out the key from her coat pocket, fed it into the lock, and turned.

The door creaked open to reveal the front room, cloaked in the usual natural lighting. Taking a step over the threshold, Phyllis was met with a crunch beneath her right foot. She stepped back, peering down at a small pile of envelopes that must have been fed through the mail slot.

Leaning down to pick them up, she noticed they were chiefly addressed to "Mr. Joseph Molesley," with a few bearing the salutation, "Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Molesley."

They were a variety of sizes and colors, suggesting the sender gave considerable thought before mailing them. Phyllis set them on the table to her left, deciding they were more for Joe than her. Picking up her other case, she carried both inside the front room before closing the door behind her.

"Joe?" She called out, her voice sounding uncertain.

Depositing her luggage in the front room, she moved cautiously through the front room, poking her head into the kitchen before calling out his name once more.

She was only greeted by a couple of casserole dishes that lined the square table in the center of the room, and a couple of plates and cups that sat in the sink. Pacing deeper into the room, her eyes rested on the bedroom tucked neatly away from the kitchen.

The door was open, but the room that she remembered being lit dimly by lamplight, was now dark. Her stomach clenched and she took in a deep breath. Her hands came together at her waist, wringing anxiously as she moved towards the room.

"Joe?" She called out again, this time feeling more so an intruder than his wife.

She looked into the darkened room only to be met with no response. Letting out a breath of mild relief, she turned away from the bedroom.

Perhaps he was upstairs, waylaid in bed by grief, she suddenly thought. She would try there next. But Phyllis barely made it across the threshold of the front, sitting room when she heard the familiar scrape of key in the lock and the knob jingling. The door swung open and she felt her heart stop.

There he was, just a few feet away from her, and all she could do was stand there and watch him.

His head was bowed forward as he took off his black bowler, his gaze fixating on her luggage. She watched his eyes slowly lift and travel the length of the room until finding hers.

"Hello Joe," Was all she could think to say, her breath hitching from nerves. The corners of her mouth twitched into a slight smile, hoping there would be some evidence in his expression that deemed him pleased to see her.

"Phyllis," He croaked out her name, his brow inverting and mouth pulling in a few different directions before his stoic expression crumbling as he fought to keep himself together.

It was enough to break her heart. It was enough to give her the strength to cross the room, and pull his body into hers, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders.

"Oh Phyllis," He breathed harshly, and she felt his face press into the top of her shoulder. She felt his face contort against her jacket, her hand reaching up to stroke the back of his head. His cries were muffled against her and she felt them well up inside of her as well.

"I'm sorry," She murmured, turning her lips to the curve of his neck, kissing him there several times over so he would feel it; so, he would know she meant it. Then her face was burying into his shoulder, unable to stop herself from murmuring apologies like some affirming mantra. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm..."

"No," He rejoined, clearing the lump from his throat and straightening himself. His hands moved from her waist to cradle her face in between them. "No, Phyllis you don't…" He trailed off upon seeing the remorse etched across her face. Shaking his head and sniffing he added, his words clearer now, "You're home now." His red rimmed eyes filled with a reassuring joy. His lips twitched into a happy smile.

His hands touched either side of his face and she smiled through her tears. "Yes," She nodded, all other words failing her.

"I'm so glad," He gushed with enthusiasm, both of them flashing relieved smiles at the words.

"As am I…" She admitted similarly, her thumbs sweeping closer to the edges of his lips.

His eyes fluttered close with each gentle stroke she made, and his face angled forward to hers. Slowly, but surely their mouths finally met in what Phyllis thought was the sweetest tasting kiss she could ever know.

After several seconds, their lips broke apart, foreheads still fused together.

"I love you," She exhaled quietly, her nose brushing overtop his.

His hands found hers, fingers intertwining as he held her hands in between them. Joe lifted them to his lips, kissing the knuckles of her hands in reply.

Their eyes found one another's, and he exhaled heavily. "I'm tired," It was an admission of defeat.

She nodded, her hands squeezing his reassuringly. "Shall we…" Her teeth raked over her bottom lip with uncertainty, "…go to bed then?"

Joe looked down between them, lowering their hands, but still leaving one joined with hers as he led her up the stairs.

* * *

 **Not my best work, but I wanted to continue on with this. I hope you find it enjoyable. They still have a lot to work through and there will be more togetherness...this is only the beginning (again).**


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